


dirthavaren

by SeleneLux



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Arachnophobia, Bad Elvish Translations, Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Character Death, Depression, Evanuris, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Multi, Murder, Past Lives, Poisoning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Revenge, Slow Burn, Suicide, Trust Issues, curse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLux/pseuds/SeleneLux
Summary: Ellana Lavellan is cursed. Cursed to spend an eternity replaying her life - old mistakes, wrong choices - her own version of the di'nanshiral. Like a broken record, she makes the same friends, endures the same trials, and seeks the same tragedy. In this latest incarnation, she finds herself in a modern Thedas, investigating long-forgotten temples in the heart of the Dales for a reclusive and secretive guild. Her heart long ago let go of Solas - he was left behind several eons ago and has not been present in her torment since. That is, until one day, he, too, poses an interest in a fresco she is investigating, and she is forced to remember that a promise made is a promise kept.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Merrill, Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel/Female Lavellan, Leliana/Female Surana (Dragon Age)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 54





	1. hanal'ghilan

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story here at AO3, so please forgive me any formatting errors that you might see occur. I have not written in a while, but this story has been floating in my head ever since I first fell out of the fade so many years ago.
> 
> Please feel free to leave any sort of constructive feedback - I'm always eager to improve. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you are having a good start to your year!

“Rather interesting, don’t you think?” Dorian suggested with a twitch of the familiar handlebar mustache. “No known lore connecting those two, yet here they are. And that _pose_! Rather risque, even for the elves!”

There was no denying the excitement in his voice. After all, this was a discovery that would change the interpretation of elven lore forever afterward. There was certainly no way to refute that the way the two characters embraced gave the impression of something much closer than friendship. 

“Shh,” Ell chided, tweaking the cuff of his left shirt sleeve before she pressed the record button on her phone. “Third day of the investigation of the temple known as Halam’shivanas. Found in the second room beyond the atrium: elven fresco, depicting what can be interpreted as Ghilan’nain and Fen’harel embracing -”

“If that’s _all_ they’re doing,” Dorian cut in with a chuckle. 

Ell swallowed, but she moved onward without addressing the comment. “In this light, the colors are difficult to pin down - perhaps the residual magic of the Halamshiral-period elves. Present are the halla horns -”

“Depicting the horniness, _obviously_.”

“- _indicating_ the central figure is the Elven goddess of animals. Embracing her -”

“ _Fondling_ her, you mean.”

“- _identified_ by the symbolism of the wolf’s ears, is Fen’harel.” She stopped, suddenly breathless. How could they _have known_?

The obvious was supposed to have been what had been passed down through the eons. Ghilan’nain was the chosen of Andruil - her first in all things both romantic and political. There was that dodgy passage of Andruil capturing Fen’harel for hunting the halla, but no scholar had ever taken that more seriously than an example of jealousy run amok. How did these ancient elves know the secrets that had lain buried in Mythal’s temple under hundreds of feet of rock and snow?

In the brief beat of silence that followed Ell’s recorded description of the vast fresco before them, Dorian made a grab at the phone she was holding aloft.

“You’re not even telling the good stuff, Ellana!” he exclaimed as he tried to pull the device from her grasp. “What about her naughty bits hanging out and that flash of red from her _lower section_? It’s the elves’ version of a dirty novel!”

Ell leaned away from Dorian, elbowing him in the chest to keep him from the phone. “Dorian - this - is - my - _work_ ,” she hissed at him breathlessly as he struggled against her.

Despite the innocence of Dorian’s interpretation, it pained her to understand what Thedas would see this as. A pornographic image of Ghilan’nain losing her virginity, no doubt. The artist’s placement of the stream of blood was just south enough for it _obviously_ to be a scene of a ravishment, not the flight of death that it truly was.

Suddenly, the doors to the room opened, and Ell and Dorian were frozen with their arms in the air, struggling against one another over the relatively small phone. 

“This was just discovered yesterday, and we have our best on it,” Merrill said happily as she led the stranger into the room. “It is easily a different style from what we’re used to. I can’t wait to see even more!”

He slowly stepped into the room, fingers lingering on the ring of the door handle as his eyes traced the outer edges of the fresco and came slowly inward. There was a beat of silence as Merrill took in the sight of Dorian and Ell almost mirroring the objects of the fresco behind them with a raised eyebrow before allowing it to fall.

“It is… quite remarkable.”

There was a loud bang following his words as the phone slid out of Ell’s outstretched hand and hit the floor, the screen shattering into a thousand pieces. She recognized that voice. 

She recognized those eyes penetrating her from a couple of meters away.

_Solas._

“Aha!” Dorian exclaimed triumphantly, missing Ell’s sudden change of temperament for a moment as victory became his. He picked up the phone, frowning at the lines of glass that now encased it.

She had not seen him since… since… Since _that day._ She closed her eyes for a moment, willing the images that flashed before them to dissipate. She couldn’t - _He_ couldn’t - Not _now_.

Suddenly, Ell broke out in a lame laugh. “I’m so sorry - we were just - recording the fresco.” Hastily, she snatched the phone back out of Dorian’s hands and shoved the device into the pocket of her jeans.

“Oh, I thought you were trying a new dance,” Merrill replied happily. “I was going to ask you to teach me sometime. Solas - this is Ell, and this is Dorian. Ell is our primary researcher for the guild. I can’t remember what Dorian does.”

For his part, Dorian looked affronted. Ell shook her head and immediately sidestepped Merrill and Solas to the door behind them. She couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ look at him. 

“I’m - I’m going to go get Hawke’s,” she said awkwardly, gesturing to the phone in her pants pocket. “Be right back!”

She entered the empty corridor and closed the door behind her, leaning against it. A cold sweat had broken out on the back of her neck, soaking the collar of her shirt. Her fingers twitched as she brought a hand up to her mouth, holding back a noise she could not quite identify.

“Merrill, I’m a writer from _Travels of the Arcane_! How many times do I have to _tell_ you?” Dorian’s voice floated through the door.

Ell inhaled deeply and headed back to the atrium where the majority of the research team was gathered. Hawke sat with her phone in her lap, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Mar - I need your phone,” Ell said she came up to the grinning woman. She reached into her pants and pulled out the broken one for Hawke to see.

“Ell.” The grin slowly faded from Hawke’s features as she looked up. “You can’t mean _my_ phone. I just got Fenris to reply back!”

“I need to record the fresco for Messere. She wanted it back as soon as possible. Do you want to explain to her why I couldn’t do it?” Ell asked as she held her hand out for the device.

For a moment, Hawke looked as though she’d rather explain to their employer why their work remained incomplete, but then she frowned and handed the phone over. “Maker,” she sighed. “Just don’t go poking around my messages with Merril. And don’t go breaking this one!”

“On my honor,” Ell returned with a smirk as she pushed the phone into her jeans pocket and turned on her heel back in the direction of the fresco room.

“This is not like any paint with which I am familiar. You said she was your foremost researcher?” Solas’s voice floated down the corridor, echoing through Ell’s ears.

“Yes - Messere said she is the most talented,” Merrill replied, still just as cheery as usual. 

“How long does it take to get a phone though?” Dorian asked.

Ell opened the door then, pushing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “I heard that, Dorian.”

“Well, you _were_ taking forever.” He frowned in return.

“I was just remarking on the type of paint,” Solas said. He had moved closer to the fresco now, his hands hovering just over the center of the image. “It rather… bends the light. I cannot gather the emotion that is presented in the image. It is too… conflicted.” 

Ell turned to look at him now, peering in interest. The conflict appeared more on his face than in the fresco, she surmised. She wondered just how deep the emotion ran in him.

“Who is this again, Merrill?” Dorian asked. “Wait - don’t answer that question.” He turned directly to face Solas head on. “Who are you again?”

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” He pulled his hand away from the fresco and shoved them into the pockets of his pants. “I run a… consulting firm of sorts. Rather like your own Messere.”

He turned away from Dorian to face Ell. “As your Messere values your input so highly, might I ask for your own initial interpretations?”

Ell swallowed. She frowned as she turned to face the fresco. “At this point, I have only conjectures. There are some runes that need translating - perhaps they will offer some definity to interpretation.”

Solas nodded in fairness to the assertion. “Perhaps I can follow up with you… at a later time?”

_No, no, no._

There was no way that Ell was going to encourage this. Despite herself, however, she pulled out Hawke’s phone. “And your number is…?”


	2. hellathen

The image stayed with him even after he departed the Dales. Solas attempted to think of the fresco and the temple in terms of what he and his business of sorts could gain from it, but the depiction of the embracing deities kept interrupting whatever vocational ideas he had intended for the discovery.

It was the violence of the fresco, he supposed. He recalled, as though from another life, a history class discussing the politics of old. Entire dynasties were overthrown in a fortnight of bloodshed and genocide; others grew in their place almost as violently. These days, politics followed a more peaceful path, one that did not necessarily evoke the wars of old. Decisions were made by currying favors, exchanges of knowledge, sometimes even marriage alliances. It was what made his business so profitable.

Even so, that woman - Ell, he reminded himself - had avoided his gaze. She had shied away from him, almost as if she had recognized him on sight, as though she remembered something unpleasant he had done. 

It was possible. Solas, after all, was many things, not all of them beneficent. He could not recall having seen her face before, but there was something in her eyes - the intensity of them struck at him in a way he could not identify.

> _Varric Tethras 8:46 PM  
>  Chuckles, you’re killing me here. find anything interesting?_

The vibration of the text message pulled Solas from the mire of his thoughts. He eyed the words, frowning slightly at the dwarf’s impatience. Back in the city for all of five minutes, and already bombarded by requests for what had been discovered. 

> _Varric Tethras 8:49 PM  
>  C’mon. You scratch my back, I scratch yours_
> 
> _Solas 8:51 PM  
>  I have only just returned to the city, Master Tethras. Patience is a virtue._
> 
> _Varric Tethras 8:52 PM  
>  You’ve left me hanging since noon, elf._
> 
> _Varric Tethras 8:57 PM  
>  Fine, I’ll just ask Poppy._

Solas shook his head as he opened his laptop. He leaned back in his chair and peered at the ceiling as the white screen flashed over him, scanning his features. A brief moment later, the account booted, and he double clicked on his instant messenger as his phone vibrated once more.

> _Varric Tethras 9:01 PM  
>  Damn it, her phone’s off. Just get back to me, Chuckles._

Sighing, Solas took a cue from the message and pressed the power button on his own phone. As it vibrated again, he pushed the device away from him on the desk and then began typing a message on the window displayed on his screen. Two or three times, he wrote a request for elven lore to his secretary, but the words floated across the screen, and he was unsure if the question was even comprehensible. No matter. Josephine was a very capable woman; she would handle it personally regardless of whether the official memo came in now or in the morning.

Solas thumbed the power button on his laptop and closed the lid before standing up from his chair. With a barely-stifled yawn, he headed down the hallway to the kitchen, the lights coming on automatically at his presence. The vintage Antivan resting at the very top of his wine rack was his goal. He was ready for the images of the fresco that continued to haunt his thoughts to blur in the thrum of the drink’s effects. The large glass he poured for himself smelled faintly of elderberries, but the aroma was greatly overpowered by the scent of the alcohol. Without a beat, he sipped at the glass and smiled.

A little strong for his taste, but the image of the fresco was already blurring at the edges.

* * *

_Even as he was pushed to the ground and attacked with a spell of binding, nothing could cause his grin to waver. Fen’harel looked up at the long table before him, filled with food enough for a banquet. Only two sat, however, one in the lap of the other, a hand moving a lock of hair, a hushed whisper between the pair._

_The two were attended by a group of elves, their faces adorned with arrows of the darkest blood, their eyes constantly on the pair. There was no emotion in them. Mouths straight lines, eyes empty. Andruil did not like her slaves to possess a will of their own._

_As the binding spell took hold of him, the one with the burgundy hair turned her face sharply in his direction, crimson eyes fluttering. Fen’harel bared his teeth at her, a silent taunt that invited her to stand, parting her from her lover._

_“You come into my lands, incite rebellion among my slaves, and now you_ dare _refuse to show me the respect to which I am entitled?” the woman hissed. “Your protectoress is not here, wolf. It is just you and I.” She opened her eyes wider, almost as though she were shooting him a menacing glare. The magical bonds holding Fen’harel in place tightened, pulling him toward the floor._

_The titian-haired one stood as well, wrapping her arms around the waist of her lover, nibbling at the lobe of her ear. While she caressed her lover’s body, a large halla stood near them, dark eyes frozen on her._

_A cruel grin slowly grew across Andruil’s features as her lover whispered in her ear, too low for Fen’harel to hear. She reached her hand back to rest on her lover’s cheek and gently pulled her forward for an unchaste kiss. The seconds ticked by as the pair hungrily ate at one another’s mouths before, at last, Andruil pulled away from her lover, breathing deeply. Lips swollen, she turned her face back to Fen’harel._

_“Ghilan’nain has proposed a hunt, wolf,” she said silkily. “Do you think you can outrun my arrows?” Her eyes flashed again, and the bindings on Fen’harel disappeared._

_Laughter erupted from his very core, now that he had the capacity to speak. “Will your arrows stay true?”_

_Andruil’s eyes flashed again, and a smaller number of the bindings returned, pulling his arms back at an awkward angle. Rough hands pulled him up from the ground and pushed him in the direction of an eluvian. The titian-haired woman pressed her hand to the glass, and it shimmered like water. A rainbow of colors swirled in the ripples before settling on a palette of greens. The plains._

_Ghilan’nain and the halla crossed the eluvian’s threshold first. In her absence, Andruil flashed her eyes at him once more._

_“I’ve painted them with poison from the void,” she said in a low, ominous voice, pulling an arrow out of her quiver. She pressed the tip to his cheek, the cruel grin returning. “I can kill you now, wolf. Just one prick.” Without another word, the huntress turned on her heel and followed her lover through the eluvian._

_They were waiting for him when he crossed the threshold as well. As the seconds passed, it did not appear as though Andruil’s slaves would be accompanying them._

_“Half an hour, wolf,” Andruil snapped. She notched an arrow, pointed it toward the sky, and released it. A loud crackle of electricity thrummed around them. “Begin!”_

_As the vestiges of Andruil’s magic dissipated, he noticed there were traces of a different magic here, a shimmering trail set so carefully against the ground that only the most observant eye could catch sight of it. Fen’harel began to run in the direction that the magic led him, unsurprised when he heard the whizz of an arrow as it flew within inches of his head. He knew it would not be the last shot in his direction, and pride could not allow him to leave the hunt now, so instead he followed the familiar scent of magic and ignored the glowing red aura of the huntress who now waited behind him._

_The trail led him past many rock formations, its glow becoming more apparent the farther it led him away from the mad huntress. A grin of anticipation spread across Fen’harel’s features as the path drew him further into the plains. At last, its glimmer was at its brightest before a small cavern, and so he stepped inside and waited._

_The light had worn thin by the time the sound of a halla galloping drew nearer. He watched, leaning lazily against the wall of the cavern, as she slowed the gallop to a walk and entered, still mounted._

_“You dare too much, Fen’harel,” the titan-haired woman hissed as she patted down the neck of her halla. After making sure the animal was not breathless from the run, she turned to glare at him, braids flying in her wake. “Andruil will not forgive you this.”_

_He crossed his arms, eying the woman in interest. “There is already quite a bit she would not so easily forgive me for. I doubt one trespass will set her over the edge.”_

_It was at those words she slid down the side of her beast and stood mere inches from him. “You understand nothing.” Her bright green eyes bore angrily into his own. “I know your plan, Fen’harel. It will not be enough.”_

_The amused, interested grin that had been playing at his face quickly fell away. “Do not underestimate the sacrifices I am prepared to make.”_

_At those words, she let out a shaky laugh and turned away from him. “I know well enough your ‘sacrifices,’” she said in a low voice._

_“You do not understand -” he began, but she cut him off._

_“Do you not see, Fen’harel?” she demanded, turning back to him. She thrust her open hands at him, the blue aura of her magic crackling around them. “The blood of our people is already on my hands. I have used them - their freedom, their very_ lives _to become what I am. You have already sacrificed - you sacrificed_ me _.”_

_At her words, the god that was Fen’harel melted away. He took her hands in his and pulled her close to him._

_“Dirthara,” he breathed, calling her by the name that was hers before Andruil had bestowed Ghilan’nain upon her._

_A single tear slid down her cheek as she lifted her head to peer up at him. “I am she no more than you are Solas,” she said sadly. “And those who we have become - they will not be able to protect the People from what is coming.”_

_He brushed the tear away with the flat of his thumb. “We will be enough, Dirthara. Mythal will be enough._ I _will be enough.”_

_Suddenly, impulsively, he pressed his lips to hers. It was not a kiss of lust, the kind that Andruil and Ghilan’nain had shared, but one of passion and yearning. He wrapped her in his arms, enveloping her, losing himself within her. She gripped his sides, pulling him closer still, breathing him in. It was a long, hungry embrace, but at last, she broke the kiss, burying her face into his chest._

_“She will be looking for me, I must return,” Ghilan’nain said, though at first she made no effort to leave his arms. She let out a heavy sigh, and then took a step backward. Reluctantly, they released one another._

_He watched as she remounted the halla in one swift, graceful movement. The godlike visage was still faded from his features, almost as though that persona had never existed._

_“Leave now, and do not return, Fen’harel,” Ghilan’nain ordered, her voice like icy water rushing over them, pushing them back into the confines of reality. She turned the halla around with an abrupt click of her tongue, heading out of the cavern. “I will continue to send my reports to our lady, but do not expect my aid a second time.” Without a word of good-bye, she galloped away, leaving the wolf in the darkness of the cavern._

* * *

Solas sat up abruptly in his bed. The half-drunk glass of the Antivan vintage was sitting on the nightstand beside him, taunting him. He pressed his fingers to his lips, recalling the dream kiss. His heart was beating in his chest, and he paused for a moment to still his breathing.

His mind raced as he pored over the contents of his dream. That woman - that researcher he had met, was there. They were originally in what he could understand now was a temple of some nature or other. He had watched as she had embraced the other woman, the mad huntress, like a lover, and recalled the name by which they had addressed him.

Fen’harel… The aftereffects of the vintage had made his mind blurry. He remembered that name. It was the figure on the fresco she had been sitting in front of that morning. He had been holding the halla goddess.

Solas wondered if his mind were playing tricks on him, but he could not recall ever before having a dream so vivid, with or without the aid of the Antivan vintage. He inhaled deeply and looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

The green letters flashed _4:27 AM_ at him, and in the corner it showed the alarm set for 6:15. 

He stood up, grabbing his phone from his nightstand, and considered making himself some tea. He normally detested the stuff, but it usually worked to clear his mind when he was unable to focus. As he walked back to the kitchen, he recalled that he had powered down his phone the night before and pressed the button again.

The kitchen lit up as usual at his presence, and he placed the vibrating phone down on the counter as he pulled out a kettle to set water to boil. After he turned the burner on high, he pulled up his text messages.

>   
>  _Varric Tethras 9:18 PM  
>  All right already. Sleep. But don’t forget you owe me information._
> 
> _11:39 AM  
>  Hey, this is Ellana. Here’s my number for that follow up._

Solas blinked. That he had asked to reach back out to her in regards to the fresco had completely slipped his mind in light of the dream. He frowned, fingers hovering over the conversation. What was the social decorum for reaching out to someone about whom you’d just had a strangely vivid dream? He wasn’t entirely certain there was one. Nonetheless, he opened the conversation and typed out a message.

>   
>  _Solas 4:34 AM  
>  Is this Ellana?_
> 
> _4:36 AM  
>  Yeh, this is teh hghly prized elven translatr at your svc. Walkng dictionary, art interpreter, phone klutz extraordinary, and super secret Elvish intellgence at your dissposal. *finger guns*_
> 
> _4:41 AM  
>  My apologies. I was hacked. How may I be of assistance?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some difficulty trying to depict the complex nature of Ghilan'nain's role in Arlathan, so please let me know if it is a bit incomprehensible.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I do hope this week is going well for you.


	3. suledin

Dorian scrunched his nose as he eyed the trio sitting around the fire outside the temple. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff. It’s positively revolting.”

Hawke shook her head, though it was an awkward move as she was sitting with an arm around Merrill’s shoulders, and her hair smacked the sleeping elf across the face. “It’s the drink of _real_ people, Dorian. Not the fancy-pants writers.”

“Oh, my apologies. I didn’t know _real_ people liked not being able to feel their own throat,” Dorian returned with a roll of his eyes. “I also don’t envy you the hangover you’ll invariably have.”

“You’re just jealous that we don’t have anymore of that sweet Tevinter wine,” Hawke said, slurring her words slightly. 

Ell held up the bottle, spilling some as she swung it in his direction with a little too much force. “Come on, Dorian, it’s not everyday you get to drink something called Dragon Piss.”

Dorian grinned slightly. “Somehow, its name makes it sound just that much more delectable.” Shaking his head, he slid into a seated position next to Ell. As she took a long draught from the bottle and choked, he frowned. “You know, you’re supposed to be helping me with this article. How am I to write it when my foremost expert is drunker than a sailor on a Saturday?”

“Just do what you do best and embellish it,” Hawke cut in with a giggle.

Dorian straightened. “Your lack of confidence in my integrity is astounding.”

Ell sat with her chin on her knees, staring into the fire as she pretended to listen to Hawke and Dorian banter around her. She could not help but see the fresco before her, the image of her own dead form on display. The alcohol had dulled her senses somewhat, making her numb to the idea that even her death was no longer her own, but it could do nothing to the images imprinted in her brain.

Quick, shallow breaths. Her heart pounding in her chest as he came nearer to her, leering at her. The feeling of the knife as it slashed at her clothes, marring the alabaster skin beneath. Struggling, struggling so hard to move, to reach her mana, to shudder away from his presence.

“E- _llan_ -a,” Hawke screeched.

Ell jumped, looking almost wildly around for a moment. Then she gave herself a mental shake and turned to look at Hawke. 

“Wha- _at_?” she asked the other woman with a slight grin.

Hawke appeared to be too far gone with the drink to notice the abrupt change in her demeanor and did not remark on it. Instead, she waved her phone in the air and smirked at her.

“How dare you give my number out to strange men called…” She looked down and studied the name for a moment. “Solas?” She spoke the name almost as if she were unsure if she were pronouncing it correctly.

“What?” Ell asked, sitting up straighter. “Did he text me?”

Hawke laughed heartily for a moment. “No, of course not. He texted _me_ because you can’t remember how to hold a phone properly.”

“Oh, do tell,” Dorian piped up in interest.

Ell frowned and leaned toward the other woman. “You _didn’t_.”

The mischievous grin on Hawke’s face as she peered at Ell over the top of her phone. “Oh, I did, and so much more.”

There was a beat of silence as Hawke’s words sunk in to Ell’s alcohol-addled brain. Then, quick as lightning, she made a mad grab at the phone, but Hawke was expecting the maneuver and held onto it tightly. She laughed at Ell’s weak attempts to pry her fingers from the device before letting go of it suddenly and watching as Ell fell backwards.

“Don’t have too much fun,” Hawke quipped as she stood up with a stretch. “And message Messere while you’re at it. You need a new one asap.” Gingerly, she shook Merrill’s shoulder and then led the sleepy elf back to their tent.

As Ell righted herself and then stood up as well, Dorian followed suit with a smirk. “You know I expect a full report in the morning.”

“Of what?” Ell asked. “Business?” Without another word, she turned and began to climb into her own tent.

“Precisely!” Dorian exclaimed at her retreating back.

* * *

>   
>  _Solas 4:43 AM  
>  It seems you need someone to double check your encryption for you, if that is indeed what occurred._

A grin grew slowly across Ell’s face as she read the words. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she’d ever even considered that she would end up talking to him again, let alone in this fashion.

>   
>  _Ell 4:45 AM  
>  But then I wouldn’t receive random messages at 4 in the morning._
> 
> _Solas 4:49 AM  
>  It is early, that I will grant you. I trust I did not interrupt your sleep?_

Only a vat of Dragon Piss and listening to Merrill snore, Ell thought. Nonetheless, the curiosity ate away at her. What had brought him to text her now, of all times?

>   
>  _Ell 4:51 AM  
>  No, not at all.   
> I do have to wonder, though, what has caused you to reach out so soon? I don’t have any write-ups on the fresco ready yet._

Or anything, really. She had spent almost the entire day resisting the urge to toss her cookies behind a bush. Messere might understand, but she would not be pleased by the delay.

Several minutes passed as Ell waited for his response, the silence piquing her curiosity even more than the text messages had. She lay on her side on the small cot in the middle of the tent, the screen of the phone her only light, as she watched the triple dots indicating his working on his reply go on seemingly forever.

>   
>  _Solas 4:58 AM  
>  Do I need a specific reason to want to converse with an interesting person?  
> _

He always had been a smooth talker.

>   
>  _Ell 5:00 AM  
>  Flattery will get you somewhere.  
> *nowhere._
> 
> _Solas 5:01 AM  
>  Is it still considered flattery if it’s true?_
> 
> _Ell 5:03 AM  
>  Is it still considered being evasive if I ask rhetorical questions? Is what you actually said._

Stifling a yawn, Ell shifted her position on the cot, lying now on her back, and pulled the blanket up to her ribs. The seconds ticked by, however, and he did not respond. For a moment, Ell wondered if she had been too direct. Her faded memories reminded her that he often did not enjoy being called out on his shenanigans. 

But then the three dots appeared on her screen again, and the tight clench in her stomach lessened.

> _Solas 5:11 AM  
>  I dreamt of you._

At those words, Ell sat bolt upright in her cot, her head grazing the bottom of the canvas that made up the tent’s slanted roof. She brought her hand up to her mouth, recalling the vivid dreams that haunted her, that forced her to remember who she was only years ago. No, surely. She pulled at her hair. Surely he wasn’t supposed to remember too, the instant that they had walked back into each other’s lives?

Wide awake now, the woman inhaled deeply. Her fingers twitched as she pulled up the keyboard on her phone again and began to type a response.

> _Ell 5:16 AM  
>  Oh? Color me curious._
> 
> _Solas 5:19 AM  
>  It was quite vivid.   
> And it will sound quite silly._
> 
> _Ell 5:21 AM  
>  They say that we go to the Fade when we dream. I imagine the surreality of the plane contributed to the silliness._
> 
> _Solas 5:24 AM  
>  That’s just it. It wasn’t surreal at all. Everything felt quite palpable.  
> I could smell the halla you were riding, feel the heat of the sun upon my face. Your aura was especially powerful, and the intensity of the kiss we shared, it was not quite like anything I’ve experienced in my waking life.  
> But you are most likely correct. It had to have been a combination of the Fade and seeing that fresco this morning.   
> Yesterday morning._

Ell brought her hand up to her mouth, but it could not quite deaden the strangled cry that escaped her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention in other stories that authors typically include a glossary for the Elvish words in their works. I can definitely add that, if anyone feels that it would improve their reading experience.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for reading thus far, and I hope you will enjoy a wonderful weekend.


	4. telanadas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, angst, angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad elvish translations galore here. You have been warned.
> 
> Fenedhis lasa - a curse  
> Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris - They say this in Trespasser at one point.   
> ma halani - Literally "help me," but I mean it as, "please help me," or "I need your help."  
> harellan - deceiver  
> Lasa ma ghilan, falon. - (My attempt at Elvish writing.) "Please grant me your advice, my friend."

_”Fenedhis lasa,”_ Ell hissed to herself as she sat up and sprang out of the cot. The scraping of her head against the canvas roof created a loud scratching noise, and she immediately doubled over, gingerly rubbing at her temples. She left the phone where it lay on the cot and swiftly climbed out through the opening of her tent.

The sky overhead was brightening somewhat, and Ell could hear the soft breathing of her companions. Stumbling, she made her way back toward the temple, knowing that if it was worth its salt in Elvish history and lore, it would have one.

The heavy oaken doors were already open, as if beckoning toward her. She let all of her breath out in a huff, blowing at the lower tendrils of her bangs, and then stepped inside the building once more. The entryway was lit entirely by torches, casting a warm orange glow on the stone walls of the room. The archway leading to a corridor, the end of which was the fresco room that she had met Solas in that morning, veered off from her left. She knew from experience it was a dead end.

Choosing instead the archway that led off to her right, Ell grabbed a torch from its bracket and lit her own path. This corridor was far longer than the other, and the walls were covered in a tile similar to the kind that decorated Mythal’s own temple where she had received supplicants to her justice and mercy. Ell frowned at the likeness, but she shook her head and continued on her way.

“A soft shadow of what you once were. Old hurts bring new problems. Acuity knows _telanadas_ , but fears the knife will save her again.”

Ell gave a soft yelp at the words. Cole had appeared out of thin air, standing not far from her, his eyes studying her face worriedly.

“Please don’t do that, Cole,” Ell said, breathing heavily.

“I can make you forget, try again,” he offered.

The woman shook her head. “No - no, it’s fine.” She brought a hand to her head and inhaled deeply. The world floated for a moment and then righted itself once more. _Damn the Dragon Piss._

The last thing she needed while drunk and searching was a spirit of Compassion telling her what she was going through. Ell frowned slightly, but the shadows of the flickering firelight made it look more like a grimace.

“You did not ask for a body, but she coaxed you here. And then you wondered if you ever meant anything.”

“Cole… please stop,” Ell breathed. “I know my problems, but I do not believe you can heal them.”

The spirit nodded silently and fell into an easy step beside her. For a while, they walked through the temple, shoulder to shoulder, pausing only to look into empty rooms for something that Ell did not identify. She could tell Cole wanted to offer some further solace, but he remained quiet as they neared the end of the path.

“Thank you, Cole,” she said quietly. “I know it is not easy for you to sit silently and try not to help in a more active way.”

Cole nodded. “Sometimes I am more helpful just by being here and waiting for you to talk.”

The words caused a sense of _deja vu_. Ell recalled sitting next to Cole in a rotunda, in a round room adorned with elven frescos. Her left arm was missing, and her eyes were filled with tears, but they did not stream down her face. As though taking up for the absence of her limb, her mind was filled to the brim with images of magic and heartbreak, and her breath would not slow.

“That time was hard,” Cole said softly. “Your pain was so real, I could feel it even in the other place.”

Ell nodded in agreement. “It was a difficult time. Thank you for always being there, Cole. I don’t think I say that often enough.” She offered the spirit a small smile as they neared the final room of the temple.

Cole did not respond, and instead, he led the way inside the final room. “Oh, a mirror,” he said in surprise. 

Finally, Ell thought. She followed him into the room, holding the flame higher so that she could see its area. The large eluvian sat at the opposite end, its glass intact and its glow dimmed. She tried not to glimpse in their direction, but more frescos lined the wall of the room, depicting Ghilan’nain in various stages of godhood. In one image, the halla goddess stood emotionless as elves wearing her vallaslin lay dead at her feet. In another, she knelt before the symbols of Elgar’nan and Mythal, Andruil at her side.

Ell closed her mind to the images, returning her gaze to the mirror before her. She pressed her hand to its smooth surface and offered the object what it desired: knowledge.

“Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris,” she whispered. 

The eluvian began to glow a soft blue. She was unsurprised that it answered to the password reserved by Fen’harel’s revolutionaries. They had controlled the majority of the Eluvian network during one of her many lives, and even though their journey had ended abruptly, the knowledge was not taken from them.

Ell pressed her fingertips to the surface of the glass and recalled the site of Mythal’s temple in ruins. She was unsure what it looked like now, millennia since she had last entered the sacred space, but it did not seem to matter, as the colors began to swirl and fade into the golden tones of the goddess’s most public temple.

“Abelas, ma halani,” Ell whispered into the glow.

It took some time before the sentinel’s image appeared in the Eluvian’s glow, a time in which Ell wondered if he was going to come at all. Behind her, Cole hummed a tune that was both familiar and foreign, but he said nothing until Abelas appeared.

“Sorrow has come,” he said happily and moved to stand next to Ell.

Abelas stared at Ell, his golden eyes icy with his wrath. “You call me out of my slumber as though I were _your_ slave, harellan?” He spoke in a dialect so old that if Ell did not have her memories to call upon for assistance, she would have been hopelessly lost as to his meaning.

“Please, Abelas -” she began, but he interrupted her.

“No, you get no quarter from me, Ghilan’nain,” he returned, his voice almost a whisper. “You betray Mythal, turn a blind eye to her murder, and spend countless lives doing what - _weeping_ \- as the world and the People crumble around you. If it were not for my oath, nothing would stop me from walking through this eluvian and ending you.”

Ell reacted to the words as though he had struck her physically, flinching away from the mirror and tearing her gaze away from the man who had cursed her.

“What?” Cole said. “No, you can’t -”

“He is back, Abelas,” Ell said sharply, cutting across whatever defense Cole was going to offer her. “He is back, and he is remembering.”

The glare of anger turned into an acute one of shock. Almost as quickly as it had come, however, Abelas buried the expression under a grimace.

“Please, Abelas,” Ell began again, her voice so much softer now. “Lasa ma ghilan, falon.” She returned her gaze to the sentinel beseechingly.

“We are beyond that,” Abelas said coldly, his words slow as though he were speaking with a child. He raised his arm to the glass. “Do not attempt this again, Ghilan’nain, or I will ensure this life is your last.” With his words, his image faded, and the glow of the mirror dimmed in the light of Ell’s torch.

“He doesn’t know,” Cole said suddenly. “Breathless, bereft, bereaving. It was not enough. Acuity was not enough, and now she is powerless.”

“Cole, please stop,” Ell said again. She sighed and sat down on the mosaic floor, not far from the eluvian. “Besides, he is right to be angry.” She leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes tightly, willing the images to dissipate.

“But if you told him -” Cole insisted, nearing her. 

“No, he is right. I _did_ betray Mythal, and I did nothing as the world came to ruin and - and was sundered from itself.” She almost said, “As Solas sundered it,” but could not bring herself to do so. “I deserve his anger, distrust, and so much more.”

Cole lowered himself to kneeling beside Ell, prompting the woman to open her eyes. “You know that isn’t true. There was nothing you could have done to change things.”

Ell raised her hand up to Cole’s cheek and smiled at him. “You are sweet to defend me, Cole, even to myself. But my actions are not defensible, and I deserve nothing less than the utmost contempt of the People.” 

Cole looked at her as though _he_ would be the one to cry now, but he said nothing and only sat down beside her. She leaned toward him and rested her head on his shoulder, listening to the even stream of his breathing. 

“Stay with me awhile?” 

“As long as you need me, I will be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a couple of days to write, and I hope the Elvish comes out as somewhat comprehensible. Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope you have a wonderful start to your week.


	5. dirthera

_”Hmmm…”_

_The sleepy groan of Andruil caused Ghilan’nain to open her eyes just slightly. The brightness of the sun was streaming through the gossamer curtains, casting the room in an ethereal sort of glow. Save for the sound of her companion’s even breathing, the room was silent; even her slaves had gone._

_Ghilan’nain slid her fingers up Andruil’s forearm, rubbing it just slightly, before moving them to her thighs and resting them there for a few moments, listening closely to the rhythm of her companion’s breathing. Then she softly brought her lips to the woman’s collarbone and left butterfly kisses along the top of Andruil’s left shoulder, holding her lips where the shoulder met the neck slightly longer than necessary before pulling away._

_Andruil put her hand behind Ghilan’nain’s head and pulled it back down toward her face. She opened her mahogany eyes and glared slightly at the woman leaning over her. “Who gave you permission to stop?” she demanded with a frown._

_A slight smile pulled at Ghilan’nain’s features as she lowered her head once more and traced the outline of Andruil’s jugular with her lips. The soft moans of the woman below her gave her all the satisfaction she needed._

_In the back of her mind, the titian-haired woman recalled the last order that was made of her, “Get into her bed. Gather her secrets.” Mythal’s words echoed in her mind, and distantly she wondered if the goddess would even be pleased with this development. Mythal demanded many things, but rarely did she bestow anything more than recognition upon her subjects who fulfilled her wishes. Ghilan’nain gathered that recognition would have to be enough, but would this be satisfactory to her lady?_

_She was one step closer to earning Andruil’s trust now. How much farther would she have to go to obtain the knowledge that Mythal so desired?_

Ell woke to the gentle shaking of her shoulder.

“ _Ell_!” Hawke exclaimed as the woman’s eyes fluttered open. “How foolish are you? Wandering into this building alone at night. Do you _know_ how many spiders I’ve seen in the area?”

Ell shuddered at the thought of a spider coming upon her in the night and noticed dimly that Cole was nowhere in sight. Instead of commenting on it, however, she said, “I know you already had a good look through here to clear out any creatures, Hawke, so I didn’t worry.” 

Slowly, the woman stood up, using the wall behind her for support. A blinding flash of pain washed over her, and she reached up to her right temple, rubbing it gingerly. 

“Migraine?” Hawke suggested. “If you hadn’t had so much of that Dragon Piss last night, I’d’ve said it was sleeping on a stone floor,” she added snidely. With a sigh, she gestured back toward the exit of the room and said, “Varric’s here. Thankfully, he has his good ol’ Hanged Man-approved hangover remedy. Somehow, he knew we’d need it.” Without waiting a beat, Hawke shrugged and then led Ell through the labyrinth of halls back to the exterior of the temple.

“Hey, Poppy!” Varric shouted as soon as the pair exited the pair of oak doors. The sound of his voice caused a ringing in Ell’s ears. He paused in front of her, arms crossed. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to get back to me about this place, and I had to rely on _Chuckles_ \- he was about as useful as your broken phone.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for relying on outsiders,” Ell returned with a wince as Hawke left the pair. “I’ll show you what I’ve got once I can get Hawke’s phone out of my tent.”

Varric grinned. “I wouldn’t try going to look for it there, Poppy,” he said smoothly.

Ell stared at the dwarf for a moment in confusion as Hawke returned, potion flask in hand. “Here you go, you idiot, and hopefully I won’t have to go dragging you out of any weird temple rooms from here on out. How’d you get the eluvian to activate, by the way?”

Instead of answering, Ell downed the brown mixture in a series of gulps and promptly began to cough. “Oh, Varric, you do have the worst remedies,” she said in a whisper; the potion did not allow her to speak any louder.

“Heh, give it fifteen minutes and you’ll be right as rain,” Varric said with a chuckle. He turned to lead the pair back in the direction of the campsite. 

“I didn’t know rain was healthy,” Merrill said as they got nearer to her. She was sitting on a bench that overlooked the campfire, stretched out with her legs crossed in front of her. Hawke took her seat next to the elf.

“‘Course it is, Daisy. It makes the plants grow, doesn’t it?” Varric asked with a wily grin. He settled down on another bench and patted the spot next to him for Ell to take.

Hawke giggled and kissed Merrill on the cheek. “You are too cute sometimes.” 

For her part, Merrill turned crimson and looked at her hands as a giddy grin played upon her features. “I could never be like you,” she returned with a wistful sigh.

“Where’s Dorian?” Ell asked as she peered around them. She could see no sign nor hear no hint of the Tevinter altus. 

“Still sleeping off his hangover,” Hawke said with a snort. “I tried waking him up to give him some of Varric’s potion, but he was having none of it.”

Ell raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember him drinking.”

“Oh, he found some more of that wine in his tent,” Hawke explained. “I saw the empty bottle next to his cot on the ground. He really is a messy drunk.” She offered a shrug and then sat up a little straighter, almost as if she had just recalled something of terrible importance. “Also.” Hawke reached into her jeans pocket and produced her phone. “I don’t know who this Solas guy is or what the hell he was doing here yesterday, but you certainly made an impression on him. Flirting while on the job, Ellana Lavellan. Tsk, tsk.”

There was a beat of silence as Ell pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “There was nothing wrong in it - and I don’t think I’m going to be messaging him back, actually.” 

“Poppy, don’t be a prude. You’re going on what - five years now? Give the guy a chance,” Varric cut in with a chuckle. 

Ell could feel herself reddening up to the roots of her hair, but Hawke spoke before she could respond.

“Besides, you left him hanging. You are completely _dreadful_ at this, Ell,” she said. “He pours his soul out to you - tells you he _kissed_ you in a dream, and you go to take a nap in an abandoned temple like weirdo.”

“Well, I’m not talking to him again,” Ell snapped. “I don’t even know him, and he’s having dreams about kissing me? And you’re calling _me_ the weirdo?”

“Hey, sometimes we have to get laid by a few weirdos just to keep in practice,” Hawke said with a wry grin. “Just go on one date with him and then lose his number. I used to do it all the time.”

Ell stood up with a huff. “I will not listen as you guys try to dictate my life. I am _not_ talking to him - let alone going _out_ with him - and I would appreciate it if you could keep your nose in your business!”

The woman then walked away in a rush, mumbling Elvish curses in a rapid undertone.

“Hey, Merrill understood that!” Hawke shouted at her retreating back, and then she leaned over to Varric, phone in hand.

“I didn’t, not really,” Merrill said. “I didn’t even catch half of the words she said.”

Hawke let out a giggle at Merrill’s words as she showed Varric the conversation that Ell had had with Solas. “I’ve already arranged for them to meet up when we report back to Messere in person,” she said in a low voice, one eye on the path that Ell had taken out of the campsite. “Some cafe that specializes in Elven tea - I’ve heard her mention it once or twice.”

Varric grinned at her words. “Maybe Poppy’ll be a bit more fun once someone pays her a good bit of interest.”

“She’d better,” Hawke said with a sigh as she shoved the phone back into the pocket of her jeans. “Else I’ll have to set her up with Fenris again.”

The dwarf shuddered at her words. “Ugh, no, her and Broody? I wouldn’t be able to stand all the negativity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke/Merrill forever <3 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope your Monday has gone well without the usual Monday-ness.


	6. mala taren aravas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in the update. I attempted to get a little poetic, and it didn't much work out for me.

“I am _so_ throwing a party to celebrate our return to civilization,” Hawke announced hours later as they sat around the campfire once more, grudgingly swallowing the stew that made up their lunch. She threw back her head and closed her eyes with a small smile playing at her lips. “Hot water, hamburgers, and wifi,” she said dreamingly. 

“Don’t forget air conditioning,” Dorian added wistfully. “Though Val Royeaux doesn’t really need it this time of year…”

“Or the royal gardens,” Merrill said with a peaceful sigh. “The morning glories there are lovely.”

“Daisy, didn’t you know that area is off limits?” Varric asked with a chuckle. “I imagine the guard has gotten to know you pretty well, then.”

Merrill’s mouth became a small _o_ in surprise. “That explains why they were always so grumpy.”

Dorian chortled into his stew as Hawke rubbed Merrill’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Merrill, it’s confusing to the best of us.”

“I’m just ready to sleep in my own bed,” Ell said as she twirled her spoon in the thick brown slop. It was extremely difficult to endure spending months on end sleeping on the ground or the thin cot when she had a goosefeather mattress in her studio in Val Royeaux. 

“Merrill, isn’t there some Elvish holiday coming up?” Dorian asked, suddenly thoughtful.

“There’s the celebration of Sylaise granting fire to the ancient elves and teaching them how to use it,” Merrill answered with her spoon just inches away from her mouth. 

“It’s not a major holiday though,” Ell added with a shrug. “We generally just go back to our clans and have dinner together in thanks.”

“That’s it!” Hawke said, standing up suddenly. “We can celebrate Sylaise and our return to civilization - it matches up perfectly!”

Merrill giggled as Ell gave a lopsided sort of grin. “It would be nice to have a simpler sort of get together.”

Hawke crossed her arms at that. “Of course not, Ell! If we’re having a party, we’re _having a party._ ” She immediately whisked out her phone and began typing at a rapid pace. “I’m going to have Orana get everything together. It should be no later than this weekend, if everything works out.”

Ell rubbed her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a bit soon after returning? Shouldn’t we give it at least, I don’t know, a week or two?” she asked in a tired sort of voice. She really did not need one of Hawke’s “parties” (in reality, they were usually major blowouts at the Champion’s mansion) on top of everything else that was going on in her life right now.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Ell,” Hawke said with a frown. “I’m not putting up with one more moment of your being so grave and serious - not after we stop sleeping in tents and eating whatever the Maker calls this, at least.” She sat back down again, fingers still whizzing away at her phone. “And don’t think you’re getting out of this. You are coming, even if I have to kidnap you myself.” Finally, she set her phone down in her lap and beamed at Ell as she picked up her bowl of soggy stew once more.

“What if I wanted to celebrate with my clan instead?” Ell suggested with a frown. She picked up her spoon and turned it vertical to watch as the slop slowly oozed back down into the bowl. At least it had ram meat, she supposed.

Hawke stuck out her tongue. “When was the last time you even _saw_ them?”

The question gave Ell pause as she put the spoon back into the bowl. When _had_ she last seen her clan? She recalled wishing Deshanna farewell, her voice resolute even as her hands trembled. The Keeper's worried look had stayed with her even after she turned away. But, no, that was when she had gone to spy on the Conclave…

“I’m not sure,” Ell said honestly as she set her bowl to the side, unable to eat any more of the nauseating mixture. Ever since she had begun to recall the lives of her past roughly five years before, everything had become a bit muddled and difficult to differentiate from each other. “I think it’s been a while.”

“Exactly!” Hawke said in triumph. “So you need to come to the party and forget about duty and tradition and whatever else they’re putting pressure on you about these days.”

“Oh, yes, nothing could be worse than spending a traditional holiday with your family,” Dorian cut in with a smirk. 

Without a word, Ell merely stood up and dumped the contents of her bowl behind a bush before putting it in the pile of the other dishes they’d dirtied during this camping excursion. She could hear Merrill’s soft voice as the other elf spoke to Hawke, but Ell did not pause to listen to what they were discussing. Instead, she walked past the group of people around the campfire and headed back in the direction of the temple they were investigating.

“Try not to take any naps this time!” Hawke called to her retreating back with a giggle.

* * *

As Ell walked back through the great oaken doors into the temple proper, she chewed on her lip. She was not keen on translating the runes of the ancient elves who had created this strange temple and its contents, but she supposed that it would be considerably better than listening to Hawke encourage her to attend another one of those parties. Even if revisiting her own past was something she’d prefer to put aside indefinitely.

With a heavy sigh, Ell grabbed her tablet from where she’d left it earlier that day in the corner of the room with the fresco and settled it on her lap as she sat on the floor with her back to the central image. It had burned enough of an imprint on her brain that she didn’t need to look at it anymore; even its finer details were crystallized in her mental image. 

First, Ell copied the runes onto the paper using a ballpoint pen. She studied the curves of the symbols and tried not to read them to herself while she wrote them out. As always, however, this task proved difficult for her, and soon enough, she had stopped copying the runes in order to read the words on the wall before her.

_Halla Mother,  
Chosen of Mythal,  
Great Deceiver,  
Preserver of the People._

_Ghilan’nain, we remember you._

Ell blinked several times as she read and reread the words, feeling as though a stone had dropped into her stomach. She did not deserve these titles; she had failed in every single one of these aims save perhaps that of “halla mother.” She dropped the tablet to the ground and buried her face into her hands, forcing herself to focus. The idea that at least some of the People had known of her deceit, had thought of her well enough to create a temple in honor of her mad attempts to undermine the Evanuris from within, was overwhelming to her. If anyone was unworthy of the People’s praise, it was her.

After a moment, Ell forced out a deep breath. She was not going to break down, not now, not in the middle of this temple created by elves who knew nothing. 

“You think they didn’t understand, but they thought you deserved more,” Cole said, appearing to Ell’s right as though he had been there the whole time. “Hearts heavy, knowing she’ll never see it. Knowing she’ll never know that they understood her sacrifices.”

Ell inhaled a deep, shaky breath before turning to look at the spirit. “They did not understand, Cole, and for that, I pity them the time they took to create this.” She swallowed, and it was as though she were pushing herself from the edge of a precipice. “They knew nothing.” She bent over to pick up the dropped tablet before standing to face the archway that led into the corridor.

“They did know,” Cole said simply. “Pride told them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're getting tired of the temple, the next chapter will have them leaving it, along with some more familiar faces popping in.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope that the end of your week comes swiftly.


	7. harel

The sun had barely risen when Ell and the others boarded the monorail to return to Val Royeaux. It was raining, and the mistiness of the early morning had caused the Exalted Plains to take on an almost ethereal glow in the grayness of the storm. It was difficult to see further than a few feet away.

Ell listened with half a mind as Hawke and Merrill chatted about all that had been discovered at the temple of Halam’shivanas. Dorian and Varric were busy snoring away in a couple of aisle seats, both having drunk a little more than was good for them the night before and now attempting to sleep off the hangover that had ensued. Unfortunately, Varric’s cure had been used up the day before in the aftermath of the Dragon Piss.

The woman sighed to herself as she stared through the mist-covered window at the receding sight of the plains, Cole’s words from the afternoon before playing through her head like a song she couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried. Pride, of course, referred to Solas; Cole always spoke of him that way when he wanted to be more cryptic than he usually was already. The realization only gave Ell more questions than answers, though. She knew, despite what she had recorded for the benefit of her spymaster, that the temple was not from the period of Halamshiral but of the ancient elves prior to the rise of the Tevinter Imperium. Ell wasn’t quite sure what had happened after her deceit in the politics of Arlathan had been discovered, but she had a difficult time picturing Fen’harel playing clan storyteller for his followers when he was leading a rebellion against the Evanuris.

What Cole had said made her wonder, though.

After he had spoken, she had continued walking out of the temple, and he disappeared almost as if he had never been there. She had not seen or heard of him since, and she found herself wondering if he had returned to the Fade. He was a spirit, and it was his home, after all.

“ _Don’t_ forget to get a new phone from Messere!”

Ell looked up, surprised to have been pulled from her thoughts. Hawke had turned around in her seat and was looking at her with a coy smile playing at her lips. Her dark hair was in a messy bun, and its tendrils fell into her eyes, casting shadows across the angles of her face in such a way as to make her appear more mischievous than normal.

“I won’t,” Ell returned easily. She crossed her arms. “It’s not like I can do much with a smashed one, anyway.”

“Don’t look at me like it’s _my_ fault,” Hawke said. “You’re the one who can’t use a phone for five seconds without it coming out looking like someone took a brick to it.”

Hawke’s grin widened for a moment before she began to turn back in her seat. Merrill, however, tugged on the sleeve of her shirt, as though she were reminding Hawke of something, and the Champion turned back to Ell again, licking her lips as though she were preparing herself for a meal. 

“I was thinking, by the way, that we should go have some fun. You keep going on about that elvish tea cafe downtown, you know - the one that’s run by and hires only elves,” Hawke suggested thoughtfully. “We can go after we meet up with Messere. What do you say?”

Ell studied her friend for a long moment before straightening in her seat. “You’re setting me up with Fenris again, aren’t you, Marian? You _know_ how well that worked out last time.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Look, you hadn’t dated anyone since you broke what’s-his-name’s heart. You know, that soldier who absolutely _hated_ Orlais and kept talking about how Ferelden was _soooo_ much better.” Hawke frowned suddenly, looking as though she were trying to keep water cupped in her hands and was failing miserably. Then she shook her head. “Whatever his name was, it doesn’t matter. But that was _five years ago_ , Ell. And, besides. What were we talking about? Tea?” She breathed out a rather exasperated sigh as she made a big wave with her right hand, almost as though she were literally pushing what she had already said aside as unimportant. “I just want to have some decent amount of fun with you. You know, not in Maker’s-version-of-hell-on-earth.”

A beat of silence followed Hawke’s speech during which the champion looked at Ell carefully, and the elf studied the human woman just as thoroughly. At last, Ell let out a great sigh and said, “Oh, all right. I haven’t been there in some time anyway. But I want to take a nap before.”

A wicked grin crossed Hawke’s face. “Great!” she exclaimed. “How about, say, three hours after our meeting with Meserre?”

Ell pressed her cheek against the damp coolness of the window’s glass. “Whatever you say, Hawke.”

* * *

A few hours later, Ell awoke to the gentle grind of the train coming to a stop. She was surprised to have gone to sleep, but she was grateful that she did not have any dreams on this occasion; they had become too vivid of late, similar to how they had been when she had been recovering her memories in this life. 

On the platform, the group parted ways: Ell, Hawke, and Merrill bade farewell to Varric and Dorian and headed in the direction of the guild. The city was a flurry of activity and color, full of the sounds of people jostling each other as they walked the streets to their destinations, and this business, in addition to the chill of the brisk wind, caused a shiver to creep up Ell’s spine. In their time at the temple, she had almost forgotten just how distracting the city and its occupants could prove to be, and she was grateful for it.

The trio traipsed down a series of side streets and alleyways, Merrill sometimes commenting on the chill of the air or how Bodahn and Sandal might have taken care of the mansion while they were away. Once or twice, Hawke engaged her in the conversation, but Ell stayed silent, feeling as though the nap she had taken on the train had not quite been long enough. 

At last, the trio arrived at a chantry located well enough away from the hustle and bustle of the heart of the city. The ruins of the old city walls were visible between some of the buildings, and many of the businesses in the area were comprised of law offices and the occasional odd warehouse. Hawke followed behind Merrill and Ell, eyes alert for anyone who might have been watching, but there were only a few people milling about in this section of town, their attention pointed in other directions. Silently, the three moved into the Chantry. Ell and Merrill kept their heads down as a lay sister came in the direction of the sound of the doors opening, and Hawke spoke for them.

“How may I help you?” the lay sister asked, ignoring the sight of Ell and Merrill and speaking only to Hawke.

“‘Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow,’” Hawke said solemnly.

The lay sister nodded knowingly and beckoned to Ell and Merrill, prompting the trio to follow her. “‘In their blood, the Maker’s will is written,’” the woman said with a small smile. In an undertone, she added, “She is expecting you.”

Without another word, the lay sister turned on her heel and led the trio further into the Chantry proper. She took them up to the altar and pushed a hidden button on the table that held a copy of the Chant of Light. A large corner of the floor moved to reveal a flight of stairs leading down into a hidden basement. The lay sister beckoned them to use the stairs and, once the trio had begun to descend, pressed the button again, sealing them inside.

“Thank the Maker for electricity,” Hawke mumbled absently as the lights overhead flickered on. The marble of the walls and the floor reflected the brightness of the lights, becoming a little overwhelming as they strode through the halls toward the doors that led to the Messere’s chamber.

“Did you humans attribute the Maker to that, too?” Merrill asked curiously.

“Of course, Merrill,” Ell said drily, unable to resist. “He is the Maker, after all. What does he do if not make things?”

As Merrill nodded, Hawke looked at Ell, her lips trembling with her suppressed grin, but she said nothing as she knocked on the door that led to the Messere’s room.

“‘The giants of the South rose to their feet as one and bowed.’” The soft, soothing voice of Messere flowed through the door, demanding an answer.

“‘And Andraste said: “It is done. We march as one,”’” Ell returned, her voice not nearly as lyrical as their Messere’s. 

The door slowly swung open, and Leliana greeted them with a coy smile. “Ah, you’ve returned,” she said. “I trust you have your reports with you?”

Merrill was the only one to retrieve her phone from her pocket and disconnect the memory chip. Hawke had been more of a bodyguard, after all; her interest in elven history went solely as far as it needed to keep Merrill happy. 

Leliana nodded at the sight of the memory chip on the table and then gestured for Hawke and Merrill to leave. “I’ll send a message on the wind when I need to speak to you again. I will most likely have questions, Merrill, so be prepared.”

Hawke shot a smug sort of grin in Ell’s direction, noticing at once that Ell was not included in the dismissal. Instead of remarking upon it, however, Hawke nodded in silence and led Merrill through the doorway.

Leliana turned Ell, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. At first, however, the spymaster said nothing and instead merely gestured to a seat at the table that occupied the center of the room. As Ell took the seat with the smallest of sighs, Leliana turned around and went to a shelf, where she pulled another phone out from a pile. After turning it on, she began pushing buttons on the device’s screen at such a speed that Ell couldn’t have followed the sequence even if she had desired to.

“I had a message while you were in the Exalted Plains,” Leliana said as though she were speaking of the weather, though her words were as carefully chosen as anything else about her. Her eyes were still glued to the bright screen of the phone in her hands. “I will give you one opportunity to explain yourself before I decide whether to push the issue further.”

Ell turned her eyes to her hands, knowing that even though Leliana’s own gaze was trained on the phone she was encrypting, her every motion would be studied as though through the lens of a microscope. She had to tread carefully here.

“I became overwhelmed by the vestiges of magic in the air,” Ell said simply. She stretched out her fingers and then looked up at the spymaster once more. “You know I am especially sensitive in areas where the veil is thinner than others. This one affected me acutely.”

Leliana looked up from the phone in her hands as the screen turned black and studied the elf before her. “I’ve heard no mention of residual magic at that temple,” she said slowly.

“I am not sure what Merrill might say in her notes, but you know that Hawke isn’t particularly aware of any magic,” Ell replied. “It was especially present in the frescoes, and I made a note of that in my report before I broke my phone. The colors were difficult to pin down, the details blurring the longer I looked at them.”

“I see,” Leliana said. She set the phone on the table and slid it in Ell’s direction. “Still, it is not like you to shirk work and break equipment, even ill.” The woman turned away from Ell and headed toward the desk in the far side of the room. “You may go, Ell. I will make note of your behavior, for now.”

Ell nodded in return to the veiled threat and knew that there was far more crossing Leliana’s mind than had ever reached her lips. She could almost see the gears whirring in the spymaster’s head as she tried to discern to what extent Ell could be trusted on this matter, which would set a precedent for any future business. Nonetheless, Leliana did not elaborate on the inner workings of her mind, and Ell did not press her for them. Instead, the spymaster waved her hand in the direction of the door.

“You may leave what hard records you have on the table by the door.” 

And nothing further was spoken between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the awkward date Hawke sets them up on, if you're looking forward to more Solas.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading thus far, and I hope you enjoy your weekend.


	8. Mythal’enaste

The interior of her studio was such a welcoming sight to Ell after the week of camping in the wilderness that she felt almost weak at the knees upon turning the key in the door and swinging it open. For all that her past lives had weighed on her, ones in which Ell knew nothing more comforting than the feel of the bedroll between her and the stiffness of the ground, they could have all been forgotten when it came to the modern convenience of no longer sleeping on the ground. Distantly, the memory of a past self turning up a nose at an Orlesian bed in the stores of Val Royeaux caused a small smile to flash across her features. 

With a sigh, Ell dumped her backpack on the floor next to the door and then walked immediately over to the corner where her twin-sized bed lay. She fell forward, bouncing up and down slightly on the mattress, face pressed into the softness of her pillow.

“Home,” Ell whispered, the word simultaneously so small and so powerful. Then she closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

The loud buzzer of the phone’s default notification tone awoke her hours later. Ell groaned, pulling her pillow over her head to block out the noise, but it only grew more insistent, louder. At last, she threw the pillow in the direction of the backpack she had slung to the floor without a second though upon entering the studio, but it did little more than assuage the childishness of her irritation only slightly. 

“ _Leliana!_ ” Ell hissed as the loudness of the ringtone increased, realizing that this must have been one of the things that the spymaster had fiddled with when she was being interrogated in the chantry base earlier that day. Cellphones didn’t _automatically_ come with their notification tones set that way, after all. It had to have been deliberately set that way after purchase.

“All right! All _right_!” Ell exclaimed as she swung her legs from the bed and raced over to the backpack. At least the loudness of the ringtone didn’t mean she had to search long, she thought idly to herself as she pulled the phone out of the side pocket and opened it, immediately cutting off the annoyingly overwhelming noise.

> _1:31 PM  
>  OK Ell u’ve had ur nap. _
> 
> _1:33 PM  
>  Wake up sleepyhead_
> 
> _1:34 PM  
>  WAKE. UP._
> 
> _1:36 PM  
>  Rember? Tea? W/elves?_
> 
> _1:38 PM  
>  E_
> 
> _1:39 PM  
>  L_
> 
> _1:40 PM  
>  L_
> 
> _1:41 PM  
>  A_
> 
> _1:42 PM  
>  N_
> 
> _Ell 1:43 PM  
>  Okay, okay!  
> I’m up, I’m up!  
> I just need to shower and do things.  
> I still smell like forest and stew._

Ell rolled her eyes. Of _course_ it had been Hawke. The first thing she did after hitting the little blue arrow that meant “send” was turn the volume of the ringtone down to silent. Then she left the phone in the rumpled covers of her bed and headed into the bathroom, looking forward to the hot water and the feeling of being truly clean for the first time in what had proven to be a remarkably long week.

As she waited for the water to heat up, Ell studied her features in the mirror over the sink.

 _You look like hell, Lavellan,_ she thought to herself. There were large half moons of purple under her eyes, which, when matched with her fair skin, gave her rather the appearance of a vampire that was daring to walk in the daylight. The slight scatter of freckles across her nose and cheekbones helped to diminish this effect somewhat, but it was not nearly enough. Her bright green eyes were anything but alert, and her reddish hair was pulled back in what could kindly be described as a misshapen bun. No wonder Leliana had regarded her so carefully during their meeting. She looked almost nothing like the self she usually allowed others to see.

Ell slid her open hand under the water, smiling slightly when she realized that it had heated up enough for her to use. After she slid out of her clothes and into the shower, she stuck her face under the stream of hot water, letting it run down her face and pool in the small depressions under her eyes. It felt nicer than she could possibly describe, and, at last, it seemed almost as though the weight of the fresco was beginning to slide off her shoulders.

With the refreshing heat of the shower, it did not take much longer for Ell to clean herself and then slide into the outfit she’d had in mind for the day. Already tired of the staid slight heat of the plains, she was eager to go out into the brisk fall air of Val Royeaux; it would make the tea she was sure to have at Mythal’enaste that much better.

After she combed some oils into her hair and set it to dry, Ell set about retrieving her long-abandoned makeup tins to make an attempt at looking a little normal today. She frowned intently as she brought some product to the area under her eyes, trying to match the dark-colored circles to the fair shade of the rest of her skin, but it was difficult. Nevertheless, she quickly moved on to mascara and some eye shadow in order to make her look at least a little more alert. The shower had done much, but it did not quite dull the sense of exhaustion that lurked within her.

At last, Ell tossed the dirty laundry into the basket and went back into the main room of the studio in order to retrieve her phone from the mess that made up the surface of her bed.

> _Hawke 1:45 PM  
>  A Alright - just b quick_
> 
> _Hawke 2:01 PM  
>  Quck, Ell!_
> 
> _Hawke 2:06 PM  
>  U take forever_
> 
> _Ell 2:11 PM  
>  I just need to put on my boots and I’ll be out. Should be there no later than half past._
> 
> _Hawke 2:13 PM  
>  Maker’s. Balls.  
> Txt me when ur headed this way_

Ell pursed her lips together, sure now that Hawke had set her up with Fenris again. She sighed, remembering her last encounter with the brooding elf. (In this case, at least, Ell did not disagree with Varric’s chosen moniker for his friend - it fit Fenris aptly.) The conversation had not strayed far beyond the usual pleasantries, and it had been clear from both of their demeanors that neither would have come there willingly had they known all the facts.

Oh, well. At least she was getting out to do something marginally fun, and she could always talk to the waitstaff, Ell thought to herself as she zipped up her boots and straightened out her sweater dress. They did enjoy her company, even if Fenris did not.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Ell stood and dug her wallet out of the backpack she’d packed all of her travel stuff in and then transferred it to the purse she’d left on her sofa before departing the week before. With a last, longing look around the small studio, Ell slipped out the door and turned the key in the lock once more, wondering when she’d back this time. She needed to switch out her sheets before going back to bed, after all.

> _Ell 2:17 PM  
>  I’m on Divine Beatrix, should be there in like, I’m not sure - 8 minutes? Depending on traffic?_
> 
> _Hawke 2:18 PM  
>  Maker, Ell  
> U take 4ever  
> Also_

Ell rolled her eyes as she noticed the much-longer-than-normal stream of the three dots that indicated that Hawke was formulating her message. She looked up as she crossed a main intersection, supposing that now was the time that Hawke had chosen to reveal to her that Fenris would most likely be waiting. Typical Hawke, waiting until she was almost to the destination to let her know that she wasn’t going in with all the facts.

> _Hawke 2:21 PM  
>  So Im not coming_
> 
> _Ell 2:22 PM  
>  There’s a shocker.  
> Fenris is there, isn’t he?_

Her shoulder length curls flew in her wake as Ell looked before crossing through the final intersection on her way to the teashop. She noticed that Hawke was working on another reply, and she frowned as she headed in the direction of the building, the bright fall sun streaming into her eyes so that she had to squint in order to see. It was only after she had come a block closer that she noticed him standing there under the awning that hung over the main window, his eyes scanning the flurry of people that roamed the streets of this section of Val Royeaux.

Ell looked down at her phone again, just in time to see Hawke’s newest message.

> _Hawke 2:25 PM  
>  Will u pls stop going on abt Fenris? Tht was ONE TIME.  
> Its tht guy u wre flirting with.  
> Salad?  
> idk. Jst give him a chance Ell  
> Pls?  
> For all our sakes_

Ell swallowed the lump that was rapidly growing in her throat, frozen there on the sidewalk. She thought about her options. She could turn around now, before he caught sight of her, and head back to the safety of her studio so that she could give Hawke a piece of her mind. There were a few choice Elven phrases that Merrill would have to translate for the human woman, but they could explain her emotions better than any makeshift construction of the shemlen language ever could. 

But despite herself, Ell looked up over the phone again and noticed that Solas had indeed caught sight of her. She took note of the relieved expression that crossed his features as he began walking toward her. Was he afraid she wouldn’t show to this meeting she didn’t know included him until five minutes ago? She puffed out a breath in a heavy burst of a sigh and did her best to control her own expression.

“Good afternoon,” he said in greeting, his dark eyes searching her face. “I trust you are having a pleasant day?”

How was it his eyes still made her weak at the knees? Nonetheless, Ell ignored the thought and replied. “That is one word for it,” she said honestly, thinking for a moment she ought to shut this down now and leave. She didn’t agree to this, after all.

He blinked. “Ah, yes. Hawke confessed to me that she had not been entirely honest in her interactions with me on your behalf. That is to say, she revealed that they were not, actually, on your behalf at all.” Solas’s face was neutral enough, but Ell could tell that there was something he was burying. For being a reincarnation of the Dread Wolf, he was almost too easy to read.

Even so, Ell nodded. “She said something similar to me just now,” she admitted, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Again, the elven woman considered saying her good-byes then and there and leaving. But learning more about Solas, about what he was like in this life so far removed from the pressure and traditions of the Evanuris, to the point that they were nothing more than half-remembered stories of stories, was more tempting than she could ever have imagined.

Ell pushed her phone into her purse, holding her thumb against the power button as she did so. “Why don’t we imagine that we agreed to meet here without Hawke’s intervention and get a table?” she suggested. Inwardly, Ell winced at herself. The pain that she knew would come later when she would, ultimately, have to cut off their interaction was almost already tangible. She knew that she could not allow him to recover his memories. There was too much pain, too much betrayal, that she would save him from ever having to know again. Even with that in mind, though, the woman gestured to the door.

“Very well, then,” Solas said, his voice soft as a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Ell opened the door to the teashop and held it out to him as she let herself inside.

At once, there was a chorus of greetings as the staff looked up from behind the counter to see who had entered with the twinkling of the bell. Ell recognized a few faces - Loranil, Zevran, Sera, and Lanaya - but there were several more that she had not seen before, here or in any previous life. It was interesting to note that Fiona had finally touched circles that were unknown even to her.

Loranil, always the most eager to help her here since she had put in a good word with Fiona and gotten him this job, followed with her as she went to the counter to make her order. For a moment, it was though time had reversed: when Ell looked at the young elf, she saw not the one dressed as a barista, but the young Dalish hunter with vallaslin and the armor of his clan, so eager to join an expedition that was led by another one of his kind.

“Good afternoon, Ell,” Loranil said in his usual, so-happy-to-be-here, chirpy way. He eyed Solas in unmasked curiosity, and Ell did not wonder what was running through his mind; she had been coming here for four years alone. “What can I get you and your… friend today?”

She did not like the hesitation Loranil had employed, but Ell remarked nothing on it. “The usual, please, Loranil,” she said simply as she began to withdraw a handful of sovereigns out of her wallet. 

The young elf nodded with a smile as he punched the order into the cash register and took the coins from her hand. Then he turned to Solas, thankfully not losing an ounce of his upbeat demeanor. “And you, serah?”

Solas stared at the menu that hung over Loranil’s head, his eyebrows lowered in concentration. “I apologize, I am not much for tea, I -”

“Detest the stuff,” Ell finished for him without thinking. He turned to look at her curiously, but before he could ask, she immediately suggested, “You could try the ‘Sunflower Sonnet.’” She recalled having it once and remembered being overwhelmed by the flavor of elderberries. Solas had greatly enjoyed the vat of elderberry wine that they had kept in the cellar at Skyhold; perhaps he would enjoy the strangely named drink as well.

Loranil looked from Ell to Solas, who nodded without a word. Ell turned away as Solas passed a few coins over the young elf and found a table a few rows away from the counter, next to a window on the rear wall of the restaurant. As she waited for Solas to come to sit with her, the room was suddenly filled with the sound of Sera’s voice. “Oh, shove it, Elfy!” Ell looked up to watch as Sera stormed out the front of the building, slamming the door in her wake, and then turned to look at Solas with a raised eyebrow. 

She recalled the arguments that Solas and Sera had gotten into as they had fumbled through the Hissing Wastes. Ell had usually taken Cole along on their adventures, but with the spiders all over the land, she had preferred the skills of an archer, and it was during this trip that she had realized just how much the two could loathe one another. It had not taken them long to clash during that trip, either, but they had had at least the small interactions at Skyhold to needle them up to the arguments that erupted in the desert wastes. Here… Ell wasn’t sure.

“My apologies,” Solas said, his voice slightly strained, as he neared the table. 

“It’s no problem,” Ell returned, watching him as he took the seat opposite her. “It is hard to get on Sera’s good side, but it’s also difficult to leave it once you get there.” She turned to look outside, where Sera was leaning against the exterior wall, talking with a soldier who looked strangely like Blackwall. Perhaps it was. She turned away from the sight and looked at Solas once more.

He did not explain the argument, and she did not expect him to. Instead, they fell into an awkward silence until Loranil came up to them, a tray of drinks in hand.

“Made yours myself, Ell,” he said with a smile as he set her mug down on the table before her. He said nothing to Solas as he placed the yellow drink in front of the elven man. “Just shout if you need anything, all right?” he suggested again, looking pointedly at Ell, before walking back to the counter.

“He is quite friendly,” Solas noted drily.

Ell nodded in agreement as she wrapped her hands around her mug and brought it up to her lips. “He is, quite,” she said before blowing into the cup and sipping slightly at the red liquid inside it. As she took the cup away from her mouth, she asked, “So, you said something about leading an… organization similar to Messere’s?”

Solas sat back in his chair as he raised his gaze to meet hers. “Yes, I had aided a… friend of hers out of a… difficult situation once not long ago, so she graciously allowed me a firsthand view of the temple her people had discovered.” He fiddled for a moment with the black straw in his yellow drink. 

“It’s not going to bite you,” Ell said with a grin. “Go on, try it.”

There was a moment in which Solas looked sheepishly down at the yellow drink, but at last he brought his lips to the straw and swallowed some of it. His eyes widened slightly at the taste, as though he were not expecting the flavor.

“I admit, it is quite a bit better than I had anticipated,” he allowed, a small grin twitching at his own lips. “I was not expecting elderberry. At least, I had not expected it from the color.”

As she placed her mug before her on the table, Ell couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Yes, I remember expecting some sort of orange or lemon flavor and being hopelessly disappointed when it was not,” she admitted with a sigh. 

“I thank you for the suggestion,” Solas said with a nod. “It is most refreshing,” he added before taking another drink.

Ell shrugged, now supposing that she might as well change the topic to the reason that they had met one another not so many days ago: the temple. It was probably also the only reason that he had wanted to meet with her, to discuss her impressions and interpretations of the artwork and the runes. She would not allow herself to imagine any other reason, but as she opened her mouth to ask what he would like to know, he spoke first.

“How did you and Varric become acquainted?” Solas asked. “I admit, I had to wonder once he had told me some stories about you, as you seem…”

“What, too serious?” she asked, allowing herself to giggle somewhat. “And I would not give credence to any of Varric’s stories, were I you. I mean - except when they come to Hawke,” she added as an afterthought, feeling malicious even as she said the words. Either way, Hawke deserved it if someone believed Varric’s lies about her, especially after this. Ell wrapped her hands around her mug and took another sip of her tea.

“I was going to say ‘too sagacious,’” he returned. Then Solas leaned forward slightly in his seat. “Enlighten me, then. He once told me that you outwitted a crew of Tevinter soldiers in order to steal back a volume on ancient Dalish magic they had lifted from a museum in the Free Marches, and you did this unasked.”

Ell set her mug down the table with a slight _thunk_ as Solas watched in amusement. “I had assistance from a few Elven slaves who also did not want Tevinter unlocking any more secrets of the Elves for personal gain. And -” She swallowed and looked down at her hands.

“And?” Solas pressed earnestly.

It was a moment before she looked up again, flattening out her palms on the table between them. “I could not allow another sacred Elven artifact to fall into their hands. They do not value knowledge as something to be shared, in Tevinter. They hoard it for themselves, use it as power over each other.” Ell took a deep breath. “At least, in the hands of the Marchers, it was in a museum, and anyone could look over its information if they had the desire.”

“You care very deeply about this,” Solas observed quietly.

“Enough to go after Tevinter soldiers over a book,” Ell returned with a small laugh. “Yes, Varric did tell me how silly and foolhardy I’d been.” She offered a small shrug. _You might’ve gone with me once,_ she thought. _But it wouldn’t have been over something Dalish._

“What became of the Elven slaves who aided you in this adventure?” Solas asked curiously.

“I brought them to my clan. They live in Ostwick,” Ell said slowly. She recalled a time when Dalish clans traveled all over Thedas, never staying in one place too long or straying too near shemlen cities. But that had also been a time of alienages and purges. “I believe Thora recently made the decision to take on the vallaslin.” 

Solas nodded slowly, clearly thinking carefully over what she had said. “That is quite… impressive,” he said at last. 

Ell wanted to tell him that it wasn’t. That after everything she had witnessed in her many lives, chasing after some Tevinter idiots over a book was by and large not evenly remotely “impressive.” But, as always, she said nothing and looked at her hands again. “It just seemed necessary at the time,” was all she allowed herself to say. She could not remind him of the wondrous feats of magic that Mythal had achieved in the ancient world, of how much he himself had worked on behalf of the elven people during the time they had called her inquisitor. Instead, she only took another drink of her tea and thought silently of how disappointing it was that it had grown lukewarm so quickly.

Solas looked as though he wanted to say more, but she interrupted whatever it was that he was going to ask. “Anyway,” Ell said, her tone making it clear that the topic was closed for now, “wasn’t there something else you wanted to discuss?”

For a moment, Solas looked thoroughly flustered. Ell couldn’t help but grin as he shuffled in his seat, readjusting his position. It was not often that she was able to find him so uncomposed, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the sight. 

“My apologies,” he began after straightening and reclaiming his composure. “I am not quite sure where to begin.”

Ell raised an eyebrow. Had the fresco bothered him so much? But then she realized, with a sinking feeling, that he wasn’t about to ask for any impressions about the temple or its artwork; he was going to discuss his dream with her. She did not want to listen to it, she did not want to discuss it. Perhaps, if she interrupted him now, made some excuse, she could depart and they could call this a one-off and never meet again? She brought her tongue to the roof of her mouth, but before she could make a decision, he had begun to describe his dream.

After he had illustrated it in its full, terrible detail, Ell knew exactly which event he had dreamt of. She stared for a long moment at her tea as though her gaze would bore a hole into the side of the mug itself. He had come so close, then, to discovering everything that she had worked so hard to hide. He had put himself in danger, probably out of some misguided desire to brag to her that his plan was in motion, and instead he had almost stepped into the middle of their people’s greatest ruin.

Instead of speaking of these things best left forgotten, however, Ell took another sip of her lukewarm tea and then looked up at Solas. He was clearly studying her for some sort of reaction, and she was unsure how he was taking her lack of one. 

“Perhaps the fresco left a greater impression on you than you’d thought,” she suggested idly. “You dreamt of Fen’harel, Ghilan'nain, and her lover, Andruil. But it sounds as though you’ve imagined some sort of tryst between the wolf and the halla.” She smiled as though this idea were absurd. 

For his part, Solas sat a little straighter. “The fresco showed them having a relationship of some nature,” he returned.

Ell shrugged slightly. “Perhaps it is open to many interpretations. I saw Fen’harel regretting his decision to lock away the gods in their prisons, and Ghilan'nain was likely depicted as she was the subject of the temple.” She took another sip of her tea. “As it stands, there are no texts connecting the two.” For a moment, she paused in thought. “Perhaps you are sensitive to magic. Those who are dream more vividly where the Veil is thin.”

“Perhaps you are right, but it is not something I have considered,” Solas said slowly. “I have shown no sensitivity prior to this.” He shrugged. “It was all quite real, though the longer I am with you, the more I see you are not so like my dream of Ghilan’nain, even if you are her twin in image.”

For a moment, Ell wondered what to make of _that_. “What do you mean?” she asked, perhaps a bit more straightforwardly than she would normally have allowed herself.

“She was so angry, acting as though I had stolen a halla from her,” he suggested.

Despite herself, Ell laughed. “That could be it,” she conceded. Though inwardly, she added, _It wasn’t as though you didn’t deserve it. And I think you did do that - once._

Suddenly, the sound of a ringtone broke the spell of the moment. Solas mumbled something under his breath as he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his pants, looked at the caller ID, and then glanced up at Ell. “My apologies, I have to take this,” he said quickly, and then he left the table to go through the back door of the building and stand in the rear alley to discuss the matter that had interrupted their conversation.

Ell sighed, frowning suddenly. She was having almost too good a time, sitting here discussing these things with Solas. She could not recall having laughed like that in years, probably since before the memories had begun to haunt her dreams and then her waking hours. It was nice - natural, even - to feel and act this way. But she knew that she would have to cut off her contact with him, sooner rather than later if she was smart.

As the minutes passed and Solas still had not returned from the alley, Ell gathered her cup and returned it to Loranil, who greeted her with a grin. She thanked him for the tea but said nothing further before returning to her chair at the table that she and Solas had shared.

At last, Solas reentered from the alley and returned to their table but did not sit again. “My apologies, Ell, but there is a matter I must see to in person.” He did not elucidate the issue further, and she stood without asking.

“I understand,” Ell said with a shrug. “Such is the nature of the business.” 

He walked with her to the exit of the building and paused for a moment once both had reached the curb. “I will reach out to you later,” he said. “Shall I hail you a taxi?”

Ell raised an eyebrow at him, but she did not address it. “No, I live a few streets away. See you later, I suppose.” 

Without another word, she turned on her heel and began walking home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that the length of this chapter is not too overwhelming. I thought about splitting it into two, but then I supposed that it works either way. 
> 
> I hope everyone has as pleasant a Monday as you can, and, as always, thank you so much for reading this.


	9. elgar'arla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I know that everyone has differing opinions about trigger warnings, but I would rather err on the side of caution with these things. There is a bit of violence and sexual assault in this chapter. Nothing's too descriptive except perhaps blood and animal insides, but if it's too much for you and you'd rather I cut it and put it in a chapter in its own series, that is 100% okay. I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, and you're always free to let me know.
> 
> Some translations:  
> Mythal, lasa mala enaste - (my attempt at Elven) "Mythal, grant me your favor."  
> Harellan - liar/deceiver  
> Ma sulevin - this is a term of endearment that Ghilan'nain uses for Andruil. It means, "My purpose." Probably seems loving at first, but Ghilan'nain used it as a reminder to herself that getting Andruil to trust her was her purpose. Kind of sucks for Andruil.  
> Ma lath - My love. Andruil was a lot more sincere in her affections than Ghilan'nain

_The anger pierced him as though shot by an arrow through the stomach. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, keeping him ever alert as he crossed into her territory. The plains were eerily silent as he traipsed over grassy fields; not even the sound of her animals could be heard._

_Nevertheless, Fen’harel plowed onward, breath hitching slightly as he moved between the rock formations that made up this area, determined not to be seen by beast or elf alike. In the darkness of the night, it was almost too easy to slip through her fields undetected, almost as though she were inviting him._

_Still the halla made no sound._

_“Mythal, lasa mala enaste,” he breathed, though dimly Fen’harel wondered what the use of those words was now._

_It was as he crossed through the arches that outlined the perimeter of the temple that he first saw the bodies._

_Haphazardly cast aside as though they were no more than mere ragdolls, the slaves bearing her mark seemed to have been left where they had fallen. Some bodies were marred by slices as though struck by daggers; others bore no sign of physical violence, and if it were not for their lack of breath, they may very well have been sleeping. Nonetheless, the sight of so many of their People fallen on the lands of Ghilan’nain did not surprise Fen’harel even as he looked solemnly at their forms all around him. It was nothing she hadn’t done before in order to ensure the acceptance and support of the other Evanuris._

_Her words from their last meeting echoed within his ears. He heard again the shaky laugh as she criticized his sacrifices, as though she had walked that path long before him._

_Gingerly, Fen’harel sidestepped the bodies, taking care not to tread across their limbs. The anger that had been kindled within him abated somewhat, but as he brought his head up to face the facade of the building, his eyes flashed. He could not forget the reason that had brought him here out of pity for her; she had much to answer for._

_And he would ensure that she knew the cost of her choices._

_Silently, he crossed over the threshold into the temple proper. Green tiles made up the floor under his feet, blue ones the ceiling overhead, as though mimicking the plains that made up this area. Fen’harel made no observation, however, as he passed the trial that she had erected there in the vestibule, ignoring it. He would show no respect for Ghilan’nain today._

_But Fen’harel paused again as he passed into the adjacent room. Much like the fields outside, this, too, was littered with bodies. He knew now why the halla had been silent._

_Covering every inch of the tiled floor were the bodies of broken halla. Their blood coated the walls, and, had the ceiling been low enough, it would surely have painted that as well. Sharp arrows were embedded into their undersides, the innards spilling out in a dazzling, horrifying array of blood and intestines. The largest one, Ghilan’nain’s favored, was in the center of the room, each limb torn from its body, its face a contusion of pain. Its horns were missing, likely the prize claimed by the hunter who slew him._

_It was only now that Fen’harel quickened his pace, every sliver of his anger forgotten as he headed further into the temple, searching the area for any sense of her presence._

_Suddenly, a spine-tingling, earthshaking cry filled the air. Fen’harel darted into the shadows. Then he scanned the area, searching for the root of the noise. This effort, however, soon proved unnecessary as the skeletal form of a colossal varterral leapt into the center of the room._

_Fen’harel let out an audible curse. At the sound, the creature turned in his direction and spat a slather of poison. He fade stepped just in time to dodge the substance. In the space left behind, the tile that made up the floor and the wall began to corrode. Fen’harel bared his teeth at the creature, and the varterral leapt again._

_He was too slow to dodge the attack this time. The force of the varterral’s landing pushed him off his feet, slamming him into the ground on his back. The creature brought its head down to watch him, raising one of its legs in a final move._

_With a grunt, Fen’harel shoved his hand into the air and shot a stream of green magic at the creature’s soft underbelly. The varterral let out another scream, tripping over him. But he said nothing in return as he slid out of the danger of the creature’s legs. Then he stood up and projected another flash of green light into the varterral’s underside. The creature finally lost its balance and then fell with a resounding_ crunch _to the temple floor. It breathed no more._

_It was only now, as he gathered his breath in the creature’s dying moments, that Fen’harel surveyed it for any sign of magical aura. It wasn’t long before he sensed the familiar blue, wild energy that made up Ghilan’nain’s magic deep within the creature, and yet, some other aura, so light as to be almost negligible, lingered within it. But it did not matter._

_The temple yet held more mysteries for him to discover._

_As he hurried through the temple’s halls in the direction of the receiving chamber, Fen’harel came across more bodies of Ghilan’nain’s slaves. These were not left to die as the ones on the grounds had been; their throats were cut, their bodies drained of blood. He said nothing as he studied the forms of the dead, but his determined frown became almost frozen on his face. The expression did not change even as the number of bodies grew and it became apparent that it was unlikely there was anyone left alive in the building._

_At last, he was before the doors to the receiving chamber. Statues of elk stood on either side, watching as Fen’harel raised his hand to the door and held it there, still, for several moments. At last, he pushed it open._

_Even from this position, so far below the dais on the balcony above, he could tell that she was there, sitting in the chair that she had been granted her by Mythal on the eve of her ascension. He did not pause to think; he ran to the balcony and hoisted himself up over the railing. As he stood there, staring at her lifeless form, all he could think was that they had made a mockery of her, even in her death pose._

_Ghilan’nain sat in her throne, her lifeless eyes staring out into the room before her. Her normally titian hair had turned white, and the horns of her favored halla had been placed on her head, evoking the way that she was usually honored in art for being the creator of the species. Her rich clothing had been cut away from her body, and there was a large, bloodied dagger jutting out of her lower stomach. There was no blood in the wound._

_There was a large, bloodred circle of runes painted over her skin, runes that Fen’harel did not understand because he had never studied the path, but he could guess well enough. And she was glowing. As though Ghilan’nain had taken on a second aura, she was glowing a bright red from her center, and it was not an effect of the blood magic that had been inflicted upon her. It was red lyrium._

_Fen’harel knelt beside her. His voice was hardly more than a whisper as he spoke. “How long had you known, Dirthara?” he asked. “Did you know, then, and decide to keep it to yourself?”_

_Ghilan’nain offered no response._

_As the world around him blurred slightly, Fen’harel pulled her to himself and held her tightly for several moments, as though letting her go would be admitting the inevitable. At last, he loosened his grip and whispered into her ear, “I will avenge you. Dareth shiral, vhenan,” before letting her lean back against the throne once more. He regretted never having used that endearment for her when she was alive to hear it._

_At last, Fen’harel stood once more and closed his eyes, reaching out to the spirits of the fade. It was almost too easy, with the recent death and destruction that had bled into this place, to ask one to show him what occurred there in the receiving room._

_He watched in silence as the doors burst open and Andruil entered, dripping with blood. Eyes burning with hatred and becoming more brightly red by the second, she struck Ghilan’nain down with a clenched fist. “_ Harellan _,” she spat._

 _Ghilan’nain peered up at her, spitting blood out of her mouth. “That and so much more,_ ma sulevin _,” she said mockingly._

_Andruil flashed her eyes, which glowed redder than ever. A stream of bloodred magic rained down on Ghilan’nain, but she thrust out a hand and shielded herself. One or two streaks managed to pierce the barrier and caused lines of blood to erupt from the woman’s arms, but she said nothing._

_The huntress rolled on the balls of her feet, laughing madly. “You are not strong enough for this battle,_ ma lath _,” she said. “Your body rejects it, and you will not survive.”_

_Ghilan’nain sprang to her own feet. “Then you are the one who is foolish here,” she returned evenly. She spun her hands around each other in a circle, creating a sphere of blue light._

_Andruil snickered. “The only one who will not go quickly is you.”_

_The halla mother did not respond, instead flinging the sphere in Andruil’s direction. The huntress easily evaded the throw, and the sphere hit the wall behind her, sinking into the stone._

_“You are too slow,_ ma lath _, and I outgrew you long ago.” Andruil thrust out her arm and shot a stream of pulsating red magic at Ghilan’nain. The latter, however, was expecting the attack and fade stepped out of danger._

 _“As you are too predictable,_ ma sulevin _,” Ghilan’nain said. “I knew the moment you first returned from the Void that you could not give up its power. As I also know that you dream about ascending even further. Being an Evanuris was never enough, and you will destroy this world so that you might become its sole ruler.”_

 _Andruil sent another stream of magic in Ghilan’nain’s direction almost lazily. “Do you mean to shame me,_ ma lath _?” she asked condescendingly. “I know what I am and what I will be.”_

 _At this point, as she dodged the attack, Ghilan’nain smiled at the huntress. “You know what you are, but you grasp too quickly. Always running ahead, never pausing to_ think _,_ ma sulevin _. You will always fall short of your greatest desire. You were nothing more than a test for me - a pawn.”_

__

_Andruil let out a bellow of rage. The whole of her eyes began to glow blood red as she thrust out both of her arms to direct another stream of pulsating magic at Ghilan’nain. But Ghilan’nain’s smile only widened as she easily dodged the attack and snapped her fingers. At once, the blue sphere that had sunk into the wall reformed directly behind Andruil. The huntress, who had expended all of her energy in her last attack, responded too slowly. The blue sphere enveloped her._

__

_Ghilan’nain waved her arm as though to complete the spell, but she froze just before the last movement. Clearly afraid, her eyes darted in every corner of the room as another voice spoke._

__

_“We will have no more of your silver tongue, harellan,” he said as he slowly slid into the light of the room. He was carrying an orb that pulsated with magic the same color as Ghilan’nain’s aura. “It is time you learned who the real gods are and learned to fear them properly.”_

_Dirthamen grinned as he waved his right hand and released Andruil from her spherical prison. “Falon’din has captured the halla. They are yours for the taking, my sister.”_

_“But first,” Andruil said maliciously as she turned to face Ghilan’nain once she was freed. She shoved the halla mother to the ground and pulled one of her daggers out of its sheath. Pressing the edge of the blade to Ghilan’nain’s neck, she said, “You know where I got this,_ ma lath _. Just one nick and I will have you in agony for days until your death finally comes. Pray that I am too merciful to use it.”_

_Time sped up as Ghilan’nain lay there, staring at the ceiling, and one of the other Evanuris would come in to continue the torture they had in mind for her. Fen’harel was unable to discern if it was days or even weeks that passed, but it seemed endless, unbearable, even if he was just seeing a memory that was shown to him by a spirit of the Fade. He wished endlessly that he could reverse time to their last meeting and save Ghilan’nain from this fate. But all he could do was watch._

_Then time slowed as Dirthamen reentered the room. He knelt before Ghilan’nain’s still form and rested his hand against her cheek. “How does it feel, harellan? To be so powerless in your own temple?” He smirked at her. “Perhaps, in the future, you will remember how lowly you really are when you address your Creators.”_

_Fen’harel turned away. He did not believe he would be able to watch this, sitting passively by as a spectator. The rage curdled within his stomach again._

_Ghilan’nain’s fingers twitched._

_Dirthamen leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. “Your power is mine now, halla mother,” he whispered as he began to slash at her clothing with his knife. “Your orb is mine, and soon your secrets will be as well.”_

_Suddenly, Ghilan’nain turned away from him and grabbed the dagger that Andruil had long ago forgotten on the floor of the room. Before Dirthamen could react, she plunged its blade into her stomach up to its hilt. When she let go of the dagger’s handle, it was with a smile._

_“You will never know me or mine,” Ghilan’nain said, her voice hardly more than a strained whisper._

_Dirthamen stood slowly, moving his right hand in a winding motion, calling Ghilan’nain’s blood to himself. “Oh, I will, halla mother. This I promise you.”_

* * *

Solas awoke screaming. 

It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom enough for him to quiet himself down. Then, all at once, he felt sick to his stomach. Within seconds, he found himself kneeling before the porcelain toilet bowl, losing all the contents of his stomach. At last, he sat down on the cool tile floor of his bathroom, breathing rapidly and trembling.

He pressed his face into his hands as the dream and the emotions of Fen’harel washed over him. The sight of her there on the throne - Solas felt himself break at the very memory of the dream. He wanted to hold her in his arms as Fen’harel had, to whisper to her that he would fix everything that had gone wrong and led them to that point. 

Solas almost stood up to call Ell, but then he stopped himself. He was in no frame of mind to be talking to anyone, let alone the person who seemed to be at the center of everything that was happening. As his breathing calmed, Solas remembered when he had last seen her, earlier that day. She had seemed almost disappointed with the way they were parting, and she had always appeared to be on the verge of saying more than she ended up telling him. He couldn’t bother her, not about this, not now, not until he knew more.

At last, he stood up and turned on the faucet to splash some water on his face. It helped, to a certain extent, to reawaken him from the confines of the dream, but he was still shaking somewhat. For a moment, Solas remembered Ell knowing how much he hated tea and looking as though she recognized him when they’d first met, and he wondered darkly if she knew more about this than she was letting on. But as Solas stood there, staring at himself in the mirror, he recalled the torture she’d gone through in his dream and knew that he wouldn’t be able to blame her if she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please let me know if you'd prefer I cut some of the more explicit stuff and put it in a separate story. I have no problem doing this if it detracts from the story for you in any way - I want reading what I write to be enjoyable, not horrible.
> 
> I hope everyone is having a wonderful start to your week, and, as always, thank you so much for taking the time read this. It's been a heck of a ride so far, but I'm so glad I took off. <3


	10. ghilan'him banal'vhen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets slightly NSFW - but it fades to black and, again, is none too descriptive.
> 
> Harellan - liar, deceiver  
> mea matrona - my lady

When Ell returned to her studio, she was surprised to find the door unlocked and ajar. Arms full of groceries packed in brown paper bags, she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and stood there, staring at her door for a solid minute before she set down a bag and pushed it open with the very tip of her right index finger. From the perspective of the sunlit porch, the interior of the apartment looked dark and uninviting. Even so, Ell figured that perhaps she just forgot to lock her door on the way out to the market and entered her apartment, albeit warily.

“ _Harellan,_ you play with fire.”

Ell looked up the words and, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the studio, she noticed Abelas standing against the wall in her living room/bedroom/foyer. With a sigh, she dropped one of the bags on the couch and flipped on a light before turning to peer at her intruder. She couldn’t help but take note of how odd he appeared in modern clothing. No matter how close the grey hood resembled his sentinel armor, Abelas still looked incredibly uncomfortable and out of place in the loose fitting clothes.

“You’ve made your opinion of me quite clear,” Ell said dully. “Why should my actions surprise you?”

Abelas’s nostrils flared as he knocked the paper bags out of Ell’s hands, sending them crashing to the linoleum and carpet floors. “This is not a game,” he hissed. “You are toying with the fate of the world.”

Ell looked down at the food that had fallen all over the floor, but she refused to react to the sight. Instead, she turned to look at Abelas, taking in the sharpness of his fury as though they were waves, crashing over her. “I understand,” she said, her voice somewhat strained. She turned away from him, moving to pick up the fallen food from the floor.

The sentinel moved to block her from the groceries, crossing his arms. “Leave it,” he ordered, golden eyes flashing. As Ell stood up to look at him once more, he continued. “You will no longer engage in this game, Ghilan’nain. This is your final warning. I will not hesitate to put you out of your misery if it means Fen’harel will continue in his slumber.”

Ell’s breath hitched in her chest as she nodded. Abelas moved away from her, toward the open doorway, but she called out to him. “Wait, Abelas,” she said, her voice annoyingly weak and beseeching, even to her own ears. He turned around with a huff, acting as though he were granting a favor that were far beneath his dignity. “Isn’t there - isn’t there a way he can awaken and still not be - not be what he was?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

Abelas looked as though he were in danger of losing control of his anger; his face tightened and his fingers twitched as though toward a weapon. “Do not even suggest it,” he ordered, moving back again toward the doorway. “If it weren’t for your machinations, he would have never become what he was. This is _your_ doing, Ghilan’nain.” His every word dripped with the fullest measure of his disdain and hatred. The sentinel took a step into the bright sunlight of the windy morning and turned away from her. “We will be watching.”

With the smallest of sighs, Ell closed the door behind the sentinel and then pressed her back to it. Slowly, so slowly, she slid down to the floor, surrounded by broken eggs and spilled milk, and stared at the designs in the linoleum, every trace of emotion having evaporated within her, as she pressed her hands over her ears and stared into space.

* * *

It was nighttime when her phone rang, and Ell shook herself, almost as though she were waking from a dreamless sleep. She leaned over the piles of groceries and reached into the depths of her bag, mindlessly searching for the device without even looking into the purse. At last, she pulled the vibrating phone out of an inside pocket and answered it without even checking to see who it was.

“Ell, how could you possibly ignore me?” Dorian’s voice filled her ear. “I’ve been texting you _all day_.”

Feeling heavy and dull, Ell looked up at her oven clock. The time read 6:00 PM in bright green numbers. She could not recall what time she had come home from the market, and she found that she didn’t want to try.

“I’m sorry,” she said listlessly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well, obviously,” Dorian said with a chortle. “I didn’t think you could _purposely_ put off responding to me for so long.” There was a beat in which Ell said nothing in response before Dorian spoke again. “Say, Varric’s got some guy’s night hullabaloo planned at one of Val Royeaux’s fine establishments tonight. You’re one of the guys, aren’t you?”

Ell cracked a smile. “Last I checked, no.”

“I’m declaring you one now,” Dorian said. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“But I don’t want -” The line clicked as Dorian ended the connection. Ell sighed as she set her phone down on the floor beside her. She knew that Dorian, much like Hawke, would not allow her to refuse an invitation he was so determinedly putting on her. Thus, it was with defeat in mind as Ell moved to her bathroom in order to take a shower.

The knock came as Ell was stepping out of the shower. She quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself before shouting to the door, “It’s open, Dorian.” It wasn’t like locks kept anyone out, anyway.

“Don’t you look delicious?” Dorian said as he opened the door. “Though I imagine you’ll have to wear _something_ to this establishment. Rules, you know.”

“Har, har,” Ell returned. She opened up her wardrobe to find something to wear as Dorian entered the apartment.

He paused just beside the door, next to the pile of cast aside groceries. “Ell, I do believe you’re supposed to put _away_ the groceries, not throw them on the floor like a gorilla in a circus.” 

Ell pulled a dress out of her wardrobe and turned around. “Oh, yeah, that.” She began to walk in the direction of the bathroom again. “I had an accident. I’ll get it later.” She offered no more of an explanation before stepping into her bathroom and closing the door so that she could slip into her clothes and look somewhat halfway decent for whatever Varric seemed to have planned for this guys’ night… that now included her.

“Out of curiosity,” Dorian called out to her, “were you planning to drink the milk or bathe the floor in it? It seems it’s only good for one thing now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ell called back as she pinned her hair into a French twist, unsure what else to do with it. She put on a bit more makeup than she had the day before, anything to look more alive than she was feeling at the moment, before stepping out into the main room of her studio once more. 

Dorian was standing in the center of a now clean kitchen area, no sign of any of the groceries anywhere on the floor. Ell frowned at him as she grabbed her perfume from her bedside table and spritzed herself with it. “I told you not to worry about it, Dorian,” she said almost petulantly.

In response, Dorian shrugged. “It was here, I was here, and it simply begged to be put away,” he said. “Apparently it was feeling as neglected as I was today.”

Ell frowned again. “Apparently so,” she said as she grabbed her purse. “Anyway, I’m ready if you are.”

Dorian looked as though he were about to say something for a moment, but then apparently he thought the better of it as he waved grandly to her door. “Your chariot awaits, _mea matrona_.” He held out his arm for her to grasp.

Distantly, Ell recalled a similar moment a year or so after the Exalted Council. Dorian had returned from the dangerous game of the Tevinter court to visit her in Kirkwall, where she had been setting up house with Varric and Sera’s aid. He had somehow known in their communications via his crystal that there was something wrong with her and had interrupted his own schemes in order to distract her from her emotions. She recalled how he had taken her to see a play based on _The Tale of the Champion_ , and he had used those very same words - except he had held out his left elbow at the time as she had lost her own left forearm to the anchor. 

Ell smiled, both at Dorian and at the memory, thinking how grateful she was to have had him in her many lives. “Thank you,” she said as she grasped his elbow with her left hand - thankfully still in tact. “Lead the way.”

It did not take long for the pair to get to their intended destination - a hole-in-the-wall bar that reminded Ell much of Kirkwall’s Hanged Man. The much abused sign outside the building stated that it was called the Hierophant. Dorian parked not far from the entrance, muttering something about how he should have known that Varric would have chosen a place so far below the standard levels of taste.

“Oh, come on,” Ell said. “You know you want to see if they have that sweet Tevinter wine you love.”

Dorian chuckled. “It is just so hard to locate in this country - almost as though you were against Tevinter in some way.”

“Imagine that,” Ell said with a roll of her eyes before letting herself out of Dorian’s car. He walked with her into the pub, and they quickly found Varric in the center, sitting with Iron Bull and Isabela. “Glad to see I’m not the only one who broke the rules of ‘guys’ night,’” Ell said as she took a seat next to Isabela.

“Psh, Poppy, if you want to be a guy, you’re a guy. I’m not going to judge,” Varric said before he took a long draught of whatever he had in his tankard. 

“Don’t you know what’s going on in your pants, sweet thing?” Isabela asked as she wrapped her hands around her own glass.

“Well aware, thank you,” Ell returned, not entirely in the mood for Isabela’s form of teasing this evening. She looked up in gratitude as Dorian brought her a drink and immediately brought the glass to her lips to down it.

“Whoa, slow down there, Poppy,” Varric said with a chuckle. “We’ve got all night.”

Ell set the glass down on the table. “Just making up for lost time, Varric. Haven’t had a drink since that Dragon Piss in the Dales.”

Iron Bull straightened up at the mention of Dragon Piss and waved over the barkeep. “Well, let’s get you some more then!” he suggested, and, soon enough, Ell had a second glass in front of her.

Isabela chuckled at the sight and waved the barkeep over again. “Let’s get her a whiskey, too,” she said before leaning closer to Ell. “At this rate, you’ll want to see what kind of rigging I have before the night is out.”

“You might be more successful once she has a bit _more_ drink in her,” Dorian suggested sarcastically.

Isabela looked up at him innocently - _too_ innocently. “I like big boats. I cannot lie.”

In response, Ell downed as much of the Dragon Piss she could manage before choking. “I just want to get drunk as quickly as possible now,” she said, her face turning redder than her hair.

“You’re certainly on your way,” Dorian said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the Dragon Piss as Ell choked down some more. 

“And we’re going to help you along,” Iron Bull added with a chuckle as he got her another glass of Dragon Piss.

Ell swayed slightly in her seat as she made her way to the second glass. “I am not going to like my bill when they give it to me,” she said with a slight smile. 

“Don’t worry about that until it comes, Poppy, that’s what drinking’s all about.” Varric turned to Iron Bull, Dorian, and Isabela. “How about a game of Wicked Grace? She looks just about too far gone already to be able to do a hand.”

“I am _not_ , Varric,” Ell said. “Here, I’ll show you.” She grabbed Isabela’s hand and stood up. “Dance with me?”

The sea captain sent her a coy grin. “Only if you know all the right moves.”

Ell was right; she was sober enough to dance with Isabela without stumbling and could probably have played a round of Wicked Grace pretty deftly. Instead, however, she swayed her hips to the music and felt Isabela’s hands on her arms, her legs, and her waist, and all she could think was that she wanted more. She glanced over at Varric, Dorian, and Iron Bull - it seemed they were quite enraptured with their game, making her wonder idly how Wicked Grace was played with only three people. She didn’t remark on it, however, and instead, she pressed closer to Isabela, who only welcomed the contact.

The next thing Ell knew, the pair was in a dark hallway that did not lead out-of-doors. Isabela had pressed her up against the wall, hands on her hips, and was kissing her passionately. She tasted of whiskey and salt. When at last they pulled away from another, searching for breath, Ell fiddled with the ties on Isabela’s top.

“Oh, it has been a while, hasn’t it?” Isabela asked with a knowing grin as she helpfully pulled off her minidress.

As their mouths met again and Ell’s hair fell in a heap around her shoulder blades, Isabela reached behind herself and opened a nearby door to what was probably a broom closet. She said nothing as she pulled Ell inside, much to the latter’s delight, and closed the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy with all the bookmarks and reviews! Thank you guys so much for all the time you have invested into reading this - it warms my heart. I hope everyone enjoys your weekend!


	11. shiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in the update - I had meant to do so yesterday, but time got the best of me.
> 
> Here are a few translations:  
> hanal'ghilan - the golden halla that the hunter (I think he is?) for Keeper Hawen's clan in the Exalted Plains says appears in times of great need. The wiki says it also means pathfinder, which is pretty cool in my opinion.  
> Garas ma - (my attempt at Elvish) Come to me.

_The heat of the plains was all-consuming, overwhelming as she lay there in the grass, the bright light of the sun boring into the darkness of her closed eyes, tinging it almost orange. The soft sound of the halla breathing around her, perhaps in sleep, was a comforting rhythm that relaxed her almost to sleep herself. Then one of the halla tensed, and the sudden cessation of breath spread over the herd until the plains were nearly as silent as the wastes._

_She sensed him long before he spoke. His aura was dark, oozing, and overpowering even at its smallest wavelength. It crept towards hers, looking for a way inside…_

__”No,” _Ellana spoke, her eyes snapping open all of a sudden._

_The scene changed; the greens of the plains faded into the dark browns of a densely wooded area at nightfall. The halla were gone. The only sound was that of her own breathing, somehow deep and even, despite the widening of her eyes as she took in her surroundings. It was clear that wherever she was attempting to change her dream to, the darkness of these woods had not been her intention._

_Ell sat up, sliding over to the closest tree as her eyes darted from the ground to the sky, searching for any hint of the familiar. She exhaled, and she could see the puff of her breath turn white in the air, but she wasn’t cold._

_Suddenly, a dry twig nearby snapped, as though under the foot of someone passing by her. Ell jumped, turning her head in the direction of the sound. At first, it was too dark to see much aside from the gnarled trees that grew so close together there was hardly enough space between to pass through, but then, as her eyes adjusted, a golden halla came into view._

_Tears sprang to Ell’s eyes as she jumped to her feet and held her arms out to the animal. The halla let out a low sound, almost a grunt, of recognition and rested its nose in her palm. A soft giggle escaped Ell’s throat as she brought her forehead to the halla’s and petted the noble beast behind its ears. The animal keened in delight and then moved forward so that its back was positioned in front of Ell._

_“Where do you lead me,_ hanal’ghilan _?” she asked the creature in a soft whisper. The halla did not answer, however, and so Ell mounted the animal in a single, graceful movement before lowering her lips to halla’s right ear. “Take me where you must.”_

_At once, the golden halla was sprinting through the forest, deftly moving between the closely knit trees as though it were second nature. Ell leaned forward, wrapping both arms gently around the animal’s neck as the wind pushed her hair back in a cloud of red. Ell remembered long rides under the moon, allowing the halla to guide her where they would, not knowing where the journey would end. She didn’t realize how much she had missed this._

_The halla carried her through the outer fringes of the woods just as the sky began to lighten. Ell looked around them in the dim light. It appeared that they were at the base of some mountains, though she could not tell the range; all she knew, from this angle, was that they were not the Frostbacks._

_The sight of the mountains or the sudden incline did nothing to decrease the halla’s speed, however. Together, they raced into higher elevations, almost as though something were calling the golden halla to it, and it was then that Ell began to wonder if this were truly a mere dream._

_At last, they came to the outer reaches of some elven ruins, and the golden halla finally began to slow its pace to no more than a canter. Ell straightened on the animal’s back as she now studied their new surroundings, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she slowly realized that they were in one of Mythal’s cities, and the familiarity of it made her believe it was the one she had lived in, before…_

__”No,” _Ell told herself again, closing her eyes to the memory. It faded out of her mind like water cupped in her hands, and, soon enough, only the barest slivers remained._

_The hanal’ghilan slowed further as they came to the center of the ruins, the shrine to Mythal. Ell patted the creature, knowing now that this was their intended destination, and perhaps had been so all along, from when she opened her eyes in the woods. In a whisper, she thanked the animal for bringing her here, but it felt as though a stone had dropped in her stomach._

_Standing in the center of the ruined shrine, so far away as to be a blur, was the unmistakable shape of a woman. Ell stopped the halla with a click of her tongue and dismounted in a smooth movement, sliding to the ground without so much as a stumble. Even so, it was with far less grace that she pulled her hand away from the animal and looked up at the person who had called her here, this person who could reach her even in dreams._

_Ell swallowed, clasped her hands together, and moved toward the woman, but soon she could walk no further; it was almost as though there were an invisible wall impeding her path to the shrine._

__”Garas ma, Ghilan’nain,” _the woman called out to her, her voice echoing against the runs that surrounded them. Unlike others who used that name for Ell, the woman did not sound angry. Her voice was both familiar and foreign, but Ell could not place it._ ”Garas ma,” _the woman repeated, her voice softer now, fading._

_“What do you want?” Ell called back, but all she received in return were the fading echoes of the woman’s only words._

* * *

The sunlight was just beginning to stream through the hand sewn curtains that covered the front window when Ell sat up with a start. She brushed her hands through her hair, pulling it back from her face, as she pondered the dream that she had had. Unlike the one she had interrupted and turned herself from, this had been no memory haunting her dreams; someone was reaching out through the Fade in an attempt to contact her.

Ell pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she recalled the three words the woman had said to her, playing them repeatedly in her head. There was no denying that the voice was familiar in its own way, but Ell could not recall where she had heard it before.

The sound of her phone vibrating, indicating the receipt of a new text message, pulled Ell from the mire of her thoughts. She let out a heavy breath as she swung her legs out of her bed and stretched before blindly reaching for the device in the general direction of where she had left it the night before on the coffee table. When she saw the sheer amount of missed text messages - the phone advised her it was _twelve_ \- Ell frowned slightly before unlocking the device and glancing through them.

> _Dorian 7:48 AM  
>  Call me when you get this._
> 
> _Hawke 10:32 PM  
>  R u nvr gonna txt me abt i t????? ???????_
> 
> _Varric 8:03 PM  
>  Poppy, I could really use your help with some weird elvish curses. Call me?_
> 
> _Merrill 4:21 PM  
>  Hawke wanted me to ask you what happened with Salad.  
> Salad.  
> Salad._
> 
> _Messere 2:18 PM  
>  I am having some documents sent to you. Please return them Monday with your translations._
> 
> _Solas 12:33 PM  
>  There are some matters of a related nature about which I would enjoy getting your opinion. Tea Monday?_
> 
> _Keeper Shani 10:26 AM  
>  Da’len, we have not heard from you for some time. We had hoped you would join us for Sylaise’s celebration. Please call me as soon as you can._
> 
> _Isabela 3:49 AM  
>  Lets do it again sometime sweet thing. U can cum bleow deck anytime u want._

Ell let out a puff of air as her eyes roamed over the words that made up Isabela’s text message. She frowned, recalling how devoid of emotion that Abelas’s visit had left her, and how she would have given up almost anything just to feel _some_ thing. She greatly regretted using Isabela as a means to an end; her friend deserved far more than what she could ever have to offer. Ell knew that Isabela may not have longed for a true union of spirit and body, especially not now, but the pirate captain had always deserved one. She was not an object, to be used and discarded.

Shaking her head, Ell knew that she could never apologize - Isabela enjoyed one-off entanglements with no emotions getting in the way. Nevertheless, Ell regretted every encouraging word she’d uttered to the woman, though she knew she had committed far more selfish acts in her previous lives.

Even so, Isabela was now the least of her problems. Ell stood up to pull some clothes from out of her wardrobe as she figured that she owed Dorian at least a phone call. There were numerous unread messages under the first he had sent, and she could hardly hope to understand the worry he’d probably experienced when he’d looked up and noticed that she was not at the bar anymore. A fresh feeling of shame washed over her.

Dorian picked up at the first ring, letting out a great sigh of exasperation. “You are a terrible human being, Ellana Lavellan,” he said by way of greeting.

Testing the waters, Ell replied, “I agree with only half that statement.”

There was a beat of silence in which Dorian did not offer even the smallest of chortles - a bad sign. 

“Can you even _imagine_ what ran through my mind when I realized you hadn’t popped up in hours?” Dorian asked, clearly outraged. “You didn’t even bother to say good-bye or text when you’d gotten home. If Bull hadn’t stopped me, I’d’ve called the city guard.”

Ell swallowed. “I know, Dorian. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you don’t know, Ell,” Dorian returned. “Because if you had, you wouldn’t have done it. I admit, I don’t know what’s going on you - I thought a few drinks and you’d tell me or something - not run off into the night as though you wanted to be murdered.”

“Hey,” Ell said, bristling at the implication, “I can -”

“No, don’t,” Dorian interrupted. “I’m still pissed off, and I don’t know what to say at this point. You have always been there for me for my issues - I wanted to offer the same. But you won’t even let me. You won’t even try. Just call me back when you’re done sorting this - this _thing._ ”

With an abrupt _click_ , Dorian disconnected the line without even offering a farewell. Ell winced, knowing that she would have to make this up to him whenever she got back from where the dream had led her. She hoped that by that point, he would have cooled off somewhat - Dorian was forgiving once the anger had run its course.

Ell sighed as she pushed a bunch of hiking clothes into the backpack she usually took along with her on excursions for Messere. The trip in the dream seemed to have taken all of five minutes, but it could very well take her days to get to the Marches. Not only was the land itself a barrier, but the Waking Sea was also a factor. Ell gathered all of her coins from her wallet and shoved them into a pocket of her backpack, thinking maybe she could bribe someone to sail her across. It would be quicker than going through the official channels, at any rate.

After she was dressed and prepared for the trip (it was at this point that Ell wished she had woken much earlier - there would be quite a few elves clogging the communal transportation areas), Ell sent a final group message to all of her friends, announcing that she had decided to join her Clan for the holiday. It was a lie that did not bite at her as much as it would have in the past; she had known so many variations of Clan Lavellan that it was difficult to keep them straight.

Even as the phone vibrated, notifying her of Hawke’s immediate and indignant reply (likely along with the reminder of the party she’d had planned), Ell thumbed the power button and left the device on her kitchen counter next to the stove. She could not risk Leliana activating the tracker implanted into the phone and discovering where she was _really_ headed. There would be too many questions, and Ell did not know what she would find there in the Vinmarks.

Instead, the woman paused for a moment as she stood at the door that led into the tiny studio, as though she were committing the confines of the small apartment to memory. Then, with one last hefty sigh, she hoisted her backpack further up on her back and headed out into the brightness of the day, not quite knowing where it would take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the wonderfully kind words I have received since I first posted this story. I was so terribly nervous about it, but this has already gone well beyond my expectations for how it would be received (I have been a longtime lurker on AO3, not so much an active member). I appreciate all the time you all have taken to read and comment - it warms my heart.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading this, and I hope everyone is having a good start to their week - if not, then a Monday without the usual Mondays.


	12. sa'vunin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this one up yesterday, while I was waiting for laundry to dry, but I wanted to give it a little more time between chapters. Thank you all so much for reading my work! It's so much more flattering than you can possibly know.
> 
> Translations:  
> hanal’ghilan: A rare golden halla, usually comes in times of great need. The wiki also defines it as pathfinder.  
> lethallan/lethallin: The way the Dalish generally refer to one another in this modern-day Thedas. I realize in the games it tends to connote some sense of closeness, but the meanings of the words have been lost considerably more in work due to a great deal of time passing, so they generally just call each other lethallan/lethallin if they're not referring to an elder or a child.

As expected, every means of mass transit was flooded with elves. Despite the nearly insurmountable delay it brought to her plans, especially considering that it was only the last-minute cancellation of another that allowed her to take the monorail instead of a zigzag across the Waking Sea, Ell knew that she would be just one elf lost in the crowd of dozens. The idea of disappearing into the background among her own kind forced Ell to recall an age that had been less kind to her brethren, when nearly all of Thedas regarded them as no more than mere servants or, worse, slaves. Though Tevinter, always falling behind when it came to embracing change and being on the right side of history, still fell very much into this category, the rest of Thedas did not.

The very crowded monorail train in which Ell sat was filled with the happy chatter of elves returning to their clans in order to celebrate the holiday. Some wore vallaslin, but many did not, as that tradition had become less important over the centuries. For a moment, Ell pondered the idea of perhaps going on to Ostwick once she had finished whatever business awaited her in the Vinmarks, but she was unsure if she could extend her absence that long. She did have family, but each time she returned to that fair city by the sea, it was as though a chasm had sprung up between them, and it grew larger with each passing year. After all, it was not as though Ell had the responsibilities that had awaited her during the Dragon Age; she was not First of the clan, had no expectations set upon her shoulders. 

Ell looked out the window and watched without expression as the Orlesian countryside flashed by in a blur of bright green. The late afternoon sun shone down upon the land, but at the speed that the train was going, it was difficult to make details out of anything. As the track changed to that of a bridge, however, Ell knew that they were now about to make the last leg of their journey, that of the eastern stretch to Cumberland. It would not be long now.

The shift from bridge back to land went unnoticed by Ell as she grabbed her backpack from the overhanging shelf and placed it into her lap. She waited in silence as the sun started to sink slightly toward the west and the view of the Waking Sea became a constant backdrop in her window. For a bit, she amused herself somewhat by watching the boats as they seemed to move backwards against the sheer speed of the monorail, but the anxiety that she would not make her destination before nightfall set in as the sky began to turn orange. 

At last, the train began to slow as the grand city of Cumberland came into view. Even as one who lived in the capital of Orlais and had traveled all across the southern reaches of Thedas, Ell was surprised at the sheer immensity of the city itself. She had always heard that Cumberland was quite large as Nevarra’s gateway to the Free Marches and its port city upon the Waking Sea, but seeing the city in person was a different matter altogether. If nothing else, Ell figured that she wouldn’t experience any issues locating an inn for the evening; cities with populaces of this size never wanted for boarding.

It was not long before the train came into the station and finally coasted to a stop. In a flash, Ell stood up and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder, quickly departing the train and losing herself in the crowd of travelers that flooded the area. Holding her bag as close to herself as possible, Ell navigated her way easily through the crowds and soon found herself on a paved street outside the station at twilight. She frowned as she eyed the sky overhead, wishing that she could continue on her path, but even she wasn’t brash enough to plow onward in an unfamiliar city after nightfall. In all her lives, Ell had strangely never come to Nevarra, and it was only now, as she walked the streets looking for an inn with any vacancy, that she paused to wonder why that was the case.

There were statues of the city’s founders and other influential people at every city block, almost lifelike in their etching. Many of the city’s buildings were painted neutral colors of taupe, beige, and ecru, but every so often there was a rather daring shade of navy or burgundy. Though it was not visible from this street, the sounds and smells of the Waking Sea were everywhere, from the fish on display to several sailors walking amongst the crowds. It was quite different from the liveliness of Val Royeaux, though that was not to say that Cumberland lacked in movement or people.

It did not take long for Ell to locate a modest looking inn not far from the train station. It appeared much the same as any other neutral toned building on the street save for its sign indicating its business. At least the lavender planted in the small strip of lawn next to the sidewalk made it appear more welcoming than the other nondescript buildings, Ell supposed.

The innkeeper was quite friendly to Ell as he punched her very falsified information into his system and took several coins from her as payment. “Headed home?” he asked, nodding to her ears. “Breakfast starts at seven,” he added as he pushed her the room key and offered a small grin. “Wife makes the best waffles this side of the Cumber.”

Ell returned the smile and thanked the man before walking up to her room, feeling grateful that she could not feel his eyes on her back as she walked away from him. Perhaps the story about the wife’s waffles was true, but she didn’t plan on staying long enough to discover it for herself. If everything went according to plan, she’d be leaving the city gates at sunrise.

* * *

That night, Ell again had the dream that had called her so far away from the city walls of Val Royeaux. Once more, the strange, ethereal woman said, “ _Garas ma,_ ” which again tugged at Ell, as though she should recognize the owner of the voice at once. Though she called out with more questions this time, the woman did not answer, only repeating the same words, which filled Ell’s ears as whispers. 

When she sat up, Ell peered at the alarm clock, which advised her that the time was 5:30 AM. With a sigh, she hopped out of bed and prepared for the day, taking a shower and changing quickly into her hiking clothes. The path up the mountains would not be an easy one, and she could not rely on the appearance of a hanal’ghilan outside of the Fade.

There was no one to greet the woman when she came back to the lobby and returned her key to the front desk. Even so, Ell offered a shrug, grabbed a granola bar from the breakfast area, and started off on this next leg of her journey in the predawn light. For a while, she was unable to tell whether the butterflies in her stomach were from excitement or anxiety, but it didn’t seem to matter during the time it took her to get to the opposite end of the city. Traversing Val Royeaux would seem almost a picnic after this, rush hour or no, Ell decided as she crossed through the fourth intersection and again heard the honking of a series of car horns.

After what felt as though it had been an eternity dodging people and their automobiles, Ell finally made her way to the city gates and began her path through the outskirts of Cumberland. Now that the large city was behind her, relief rolled off her shoulders in waves. Ell knew that if she were going to run into some trouble regarding theft, it would have happened by now. As it was, the only worries that lay ahead involved the creatures of this area, and she knew that spiders were a frequent trespasser.

With a sigh, Ell picked up her pace as she walked through the outlying villages that circled Cumberland and headed east, hoping (perhaps against hope) that she would be lucky on this occasion and not run into any creatures. Though her past lives offered her several memories of battling hundreds of enemies (including spiders of several different species), in her current life, Ell had never had the reason or the means to kill another. During her adventures across Thedas, Hawke had always been sent along to take care of those issues, and she often handled them so deftly that neither Ell nor Merrill even had to see the remnants of such battles; it was almost as though they had never occurred. 

At last, the outer reaches of the Vinmarks came into view behind an array of buildings that made up what was probably the final village on this road before the range, the south of which was the Planasene Forest, the woods where Ell’s dream had begun. She figured that if there were spiders anywhere, they were probably in the forest, so she was grateful that she had come this way; if she continued eastward, she could avoid the woods altogether.

“Welcome, lethallan!” 

The words cut into Ell’s thoughts, distracting her from the sight of the mountains. She turned toward the village and realized that it was a settlement of Dalish elves. The houses were each painted in bright colors, some with frescoes whose style were a derivative of the ones she remembered, and a herd of halla walked the land free and unpenned. As one member of the herd came up to her, nuzzling her arm, Ell petted it and looked up at the young Dalish elf who had called out to her.

He was a young man, obviously positioned so that he could welcome the members of the clan first as they returned for the festivities. Ell smiled at him and said, somewhat sheepishly, “I apologize, I am just passing through, lethallin. My clan is in Ostwick.”

The bright smile on the young man’s features dimmed somewhat, but it did not fall away completely. “That is a far way to go, lethallan,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll make it in time.” His eyes fell on the halla that keening under Ell’s strokes. “She obviously likes you. You can use her, get to your clan faster.”

Clans often shared resources and animals with one another, but Ell was still surprised by the offer. “Are you sure, lethallin?” she asked him as she rubbed the halla behind its ears.

“Of course. I’d tell you to take care of her, but you obviously know what you’re doing.” He offered her a shrug and then waved her along the road that led alongside his village. “Go on now to your clan, and just remember us when you come back through.”

Ell nodded as she leaned her head against the halla and inhaled its scent. “Thank you, lethallin,” she said before she mounted the animal. She would have offered him the rest of her coins, but she knew that he would not be impressed by the offer. The Dalish preferred materials and actions over the simple act of giving away money; one simply meant more than the other.

With a click of her tongue, the halla quickened its pace to a canter, and Ell waved at the young elf as they left the outer reaches of the village.

* * *

It was nearing late afternoon when Ell and the halla reached the first signs of the elven ruins. She slowed the halla to a walk as they entered the limits of what had once been the jewel of Mythal’s grand cities, but almost nothing appeared the way it had at the time when it was populated. Ell remembered floating buildings, trees that grew larger than the mountains themselves, and so many rivers. Even the memory of the place could not do it justice, but now it was no more than broken rock, a faint shadow of its former self.

Ell dismounted as they passed the first block of ruined buildings and patted down the sweating halla. It had been a long trip from the outer reaches of Cumberland to this long forgotten city of elves, and the halla had been graceful and uncomplaining throughout the entirety of it. Gently, Ell led the animal to a spring she remembered and sat beside the halla as she guided its mouth to the water.

“Thank you for helping me here,” Ell said to the animal in the language of her first self, running her fingers gingerly down the halla’s neck and shoulders as it drank the water from the spring. “You are a noble animal, so strong and graceful, and I am grateful for the aid you have offered, my friend.”

It grew quiet as Ell continued to stroke the animal’s neck, waiting patiently as it drank its fill of water from the spring. It was in the silence as she sat there, running her fingers softly along the halla’s fur, though, that Ell heard the distinctive sound of another animal inhaling deeply, and it certainly wasn’t the halla that was guzzling water next to her.

Turning her head, Ell caught sight of a large, grey hart standing not far away, breathing heavily as though it, too, had spent the majority of the day climbing the side of a mountain. Unlike the halla, however, the hart was wearing a bridle and saddle, and holding the length of its reins was none other than Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting better at the updating (I hope)! There probably won't be one tomorrow - I start my work week Wednesdays, and I work a horrid shift - but I hope you are looking forward to it. The next one will take place from Solas's POV.
> 
> Thank you all so much for following this story! As always, I am so grateful and humbled by the attention that this has received, and I wish you all the very best for this week. May you feel as I do when I realize all the kudos, views, comments, and bookmarks this story has generated.


	13. asha'bellanar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on posting this up tomorrow, but now is as good a time as any. I hope everyone enjoys it!
> 
> Translations:  
> Garas ma - Come to me.

_”_ Garas ma _, Fen’harel,” her shade beseeched him. She pressed the very tip of her index finger to his forehead, granting him the knowledge of how to meet her. Her green eyes peered at him so intently as her image began to fade into nothing. “_ Garas ma. _” Her whisper echoed in his ears, simultaneously entreating and imploring._

The words resounded again in Solas’s mind as he rode the grey hart up the mountainside, the sunlight beating against his back. He recalled how she had appeared in the dream, dressed not in the rich clothing she had worn as Ghilan’nain, but in far simpler hunting clothes, a quiver of arrows slung across her shoulder. She was so sad, her voice almost breaking as she spoke to him, beseeching him to come to her, not at all alike how she had appeared either in waking life or the previous dreams he had had of her. 

As the path up the side of the mountain steepened further, Solas pondered if it had been only a mere dream. The drive to make this journey had been so strong, it had woken him from sleep the morning before and would not allow him to rest until he had taken the first step on this path. It was as though, when she had touched his forehead and imbued him with the knowledge of how to find those ruins, she had also instilled in him an insatiable desire to make his way there as quickly as possible. Perhaps, when he came to the ruins and found only stones waiting for him, he would know the truth.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, and Solas’s thoughts went back to their last meeting at the cafe in Val Royeaux. Her eyes had revealed far more than she had ever allowed her words to do, and he wondered again just what she had been holding back. Perhaps it was the nature of the nightmare that he had had the night following their meeting; its remnants haunted him still, no matter the number of nights that separated him from the dream. If what he was beginning to suspect were true, she had played a dangerous game in the politics of the ancient elves and been caught out for it. But where did that leave him, remembering his past as the Dread Wolf? What had he done to sway her from her course or protect her from its end?

The hart let out a staggering breath as the mountain path grew steeper still, but Solas noticed that the trees grew closer here. Awkwardly, he patted the neck of the animal in what he hoped was an encouraging sort of way. Animals were not cars, and he did not know them as well as he could have. Much of his life was spent in an office, overseeing communication between his agents and making decisions that would affect the politics of many a country. Traveling mountain trails was far beyond him.

Much to his relief, the hart and Solas at last arrived at the outer reaches of the mountain ruins. The sight of the crumbling stone walls struck him softly, as though he should recognize the area, but nothing seemed particularly familiar outside of the dream he had had the past two nights. Dimly, the overhanging archway above him also tugged at a chord of familiarity, but, despite his effort, Solas could not place it.

After they had passed into the boundaries of the ancient elven city, Solas dismounted the hart in a fumbling, awkward movement that nearly left him falling to the ground. As the animal breathed a sigh in relief, the man found himself feeling grateful that at least he hadn’t had any spectators for that display. In the back of his mind, he recalled the swift, graceful movements of Ghilan’nain as she mounted and alit from her halla. He did not recall himself riding any beasts as mounts in his dreams.

Solas held the hart loosely by its reins, allowing the animal some freedom of movement, as he supposed that he ought to find the beast something to drink. He studied the area, unsure where he might locate some source, before leading the hart further into the city. It was not long before he heard the gentle splashing of water, and so he walked in the direction of the sound, gently leading the hart along behind him. He paused when he passed the corner of another arch and noticed her sitting at the edge of a spring, her right arm raised up to stroke the pure white fur of the halla that was drinking from the water beside her.

It was as the hart gave an especially loud exhale that she looked up, her eyes darting in his direction warily. As she peered at him, her face slackened, and he could not tell the depth of her response; it was though her emotions themselves had become a void.

“Solas,” Ell said, his name simple and without emotion as she spoke it. Without another word, she came up to him and snatched the reins from his hands, shaking her head, before leading the animal over to the spring next to the halla. In fluid movements, she freed the beast of its bridle and saddle, tossing it to the ground, and led the creature’s head to the water, which it drank thirstily.

With the memories of the nightmare fresh in his mind, he wanted to walk up to her, wrap his arms around her, and ensure that she was still unharmed. “My thanks,” Solas said instead, somewhat unsure, as he eyed the cast aside equipment. Ell waved at him as though to physically keep him from speaking before standing and running her hands gingerly over the body of the animal. He watched in silence as she expertly massaged the hart’s muscles, running her hands down his haunches with weight in some places, a featherlight touch others. She was completely focused on the task; it was almost as though Solas weren’t there, watching. He pondered, for a brief moment, what it would feel like if her hands were on a body different from that of the hart.

Then Ell knelt in front of the creature, who stopped drinking water from the spring, and pressed her forehead to its own. Her whispers were soft, comforting, soothing the creature in a language Solas slowly recognized as that of the ancient elves. Even so, he said nothing as Ell moved away from the hart, which chose that moment to lie on the ground, its head not far from the spring’s water.

“Harts are not strong like halla,” Ell said suddenly as she picked up the saddle and bridle from the ground and carried it over to him. Without warning, she shoved the equipment into his stomach, and he grunted as he took it from her. “They need frequent rests and water.” She took a deep breath and then picked up a heavy looking backpack from off the ground before slinging it over her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, Solas looked from the woman to the halla standing by the stream and then back again. “You do not already know the answer?” he queried. 

Ell did not reply, and instead, she turned away from him, facing further into the ruins of the long forgotten elven city. She was quiet for a long moment as she took in the sights of the ruined city, as though she were quite lost in thought. It was not long, however, before she turned around again to face him, some decision apparently having been decided.

“I suppose you learned about this place in a dream,” she said simply, her eyes studying his features as she spoke, but she did not wait for him to reply. “We might as well go on together. Whatever awaits… awaits both of us.”

There was an ominous tone to Ell’s words, almost as though she were expecting them to meet their deaths at the end of the path. Solas turned to peer in the direction she had been facing moments before, but he saw nothing other than the crumbling stone that made up the ruins. He followed her lead and said nothing, however. If she had not been the one to reach out to him through his dream… 

He was unsure if he wanted to reveal the depths of his ignorance.

As Ell began to walk further into the ruined city, Solas tossed the riding equipment down to the ground and grabbed only his pack filled with what he had considered necessity for this trip. Slinging it over his shoulders in the same manner Ell had done with her backpack, he quickened his pace and soon caught up to her. 

“You did not respond to my text message,” he said once, as they passed a few crumbling flights of stairs. Ell made a noncommittal noise and did not comment. Solas sighed as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants, but he did not add anything.

It was not long before Ell held out her arm to stop him, a gentle tug on his elbow, her head raised at a caved in building some way ahead. Solas turned to the crumbling edifice as well, but at first he did not notice anything. He blinked a few times, however, and noticed a maroon hue bending the light above the building.

“It can’t be…” Ell whispered, seemingly to herself. Without another word, she dashed forward, into the building proper, and Solas had no choice but to follow.

The decaying structure appeared as though it were ready to crash down on them at any moment, but Ell did not leave. Instead, she jumped to the balls of her feet, scanning every inch of the building like a bird. She clearly had some idea now what had called them there, but she did not offer any explanation or clarity for Solas, who could not help but feel somewhat amused as he watched her practically dance around the area.

“Well, well, what have we here?” 

The voice called his attention to the top of a dilapidated staircase, where a brunette woman was standing, a staff in one hand, as she took in the sight of Solas and Ell waiting for her on the ground.

The woman opened her mouth to say more, but she was interrupted by Ell racing forward and wrapping her arms around her neck. “Oh, Morrigan,” Ell said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I haven’t seen you in - in - How’s Kieran? And the Well - did it -?”

For a moment, the mage - Morrigan - stared at Solas over Ell’s shoulder with a startled expression. Awkwardly, as though the gesture were foreign to her, she returned the hug. 

“I always forget how welcoming you are with me, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said, clearly mollified by the hug and the questions. At last, they pulled away from one another, and she looked very relieved no longer to be pulled into such an embrace. “Kieran is well, I am well, and the Well - it is also... well.” She offered a shrug. “I can say no more than that.”

Solas looked from one woman to the other, but it was clear neither was going to take a moment to explain what any of what they had said meant. He sighed as he watched them in the midst of their conversation.

Ell nodded. “I know you have some sort of chore for us - you _always_ do - but could you tell me more once we are done? It is - I can’t say what it is to see you.” 

Morrigan softened somewhat at the words, her golden-yellow eyes peering at the elf with interest. “I can promise nothing, but allow me to say this before I ask anything of you: I know what the sentinels demand of you. They are fools.”

Ell took a step backward from Morrigan at her words. “But, Abelas, he -”

“Is a fool. A strong one, yes, but he holds no power over you,” Morrigan interrupted, suddenly growing impatient. She held out an empty hilt to Ell, offering it to her. “‘Tis time you stop scurrying like a mouse afraid of its own tail, Inquisitor. Such behavior is beneath the grace of one who has witnessed and performed such feats as you have done.”

Ell took the empty hilt from the mage with a slightly shaking hand. “I suppose you want it?” she asked with a frown. 

Silently, Morrigan nodded. “More than that, I shall not say.” She glanced over at Solas, who was waiting for them with crossed arms. Without a word, she reached behind her back and pulled a staff from its bindings before tossing it at him. Solas watched it fall without even reaching out for it, and Morrigan rolled her eyes. “How the mighty have fallen,” she said, every word dripping with her condescension. “But I suppose operating from the shadows and letting others take care of the… unpleasant work is an aspect at which you have always excelled.”

The tone of her voice, so different from the one she had used while conversing with Ell, gave Solas pause as he studied her, unsure why this woman he had never met before was treating him in such an uncivil fashion. He opened his mouth to retort, but Ell interrupted him.

“We’ll have none of that, now,” she said in the tone of someone who had dealt with squabbles far too many times to listen to another. As she descended the staircase to collect the staff that Morrigan had thrown at him, Ell added, “We will collect it, but I will need some answers. Such a weapon has only grown increasingly more powerful in the time since it was last used. It was dangerous enough once.”

Solas stared at Ell as she picked up the staff and held it out for him to grab. With a sigh, she took his hand in one of hers and wrapped it around the wood. “It’s not going to bite you,” she said sharply before turning to look at Morrigan.

Magic was something about which Solas knew nothing. He felt the crackles of energy in the staff that Ell had forced him to take, but it did not lessen his discomfort any. The last he had heard, the Veil was too strong to allow true magic flourish, and that was why there were so few mages these days so as to render Circles unnecessary; all were subjected to the Rite of Tranquility, because when their magic awakened, it was to make the world a living nightmare.

Morrigan smirked at the sight of him struggling to handle the staff, but she did not address it. Instead, she said, “I know at least as well as you what years of lying dormant can do to enchanted objects. It is only insurance, nothing more.”

Ell nodded silently before beckoning to Solas. She looked as though she were going to be ill. “We’ll be back soon.” She paused before mumbling in an undertone, “I hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kind of had a rough day, so my apologies that my comments are a little off. I hope everyone has enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy your weekend - it's almost here!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this - you are all amazing people.


	14. dirth'ena enasalin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was particularly difficult for me to write, mostly because I spent *ahem* a lot of time watching a certain spider on youtube and I hate the DAI spiders.
> 
> So many thanks to [Salt_Rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salt_rose/pseuds/salt_rose) for becoming my beta. I am so grateful and excited and everyone should check out her page for wonderful Solavellan angst.
> 
> Thank you so much to all my readers for sticking with me so far. The last chapter was a little rough, and I'm still editing it. Hopefully, this one will be better.

The knuckles of her trembling hands looked white as they gripped the handle of the empty hilt. Ell nodded to Morrigan as she began to walk from the center of Mythal’s shrine, but she said nothing to the Witch of the Wilds. Instead, the woman attempted to loosen her grip on the hilt and relax, but there was nothing that could possibly put her at ease now. Her muscles were too tense, too wound up from the task facing her, and riding a halla up a mountainside for the majority of the day did not help.

The grass crunched under her hiking boots as Ell stepped out into the dimming sunlight from the safety of the shrine. She heard the sounds of Solas moving behind her, but she did not turn around to look at him. Instead, she continued to move forward until she reached a crumbling stone staircase descending into the depths of the earth. For a moment, the woman paused at its crest, shaking her joints in an attempt to loosen them, but it seemed that all that had effected was the tightening of the muscles in her stomach. With the smallest of sighs, she shook her head slowly, as though she couldn’t believe she were about to do what was in mind, and began to step gingerly down the staircase, her right hand steadying herself against the wall as she descended.

“What is it that we seek?” Solas asked, breaking the tension of the silence.

Ell turned around to look at him. He was almost in a halo of orange light with his back to the entrance, some sunlight streaming in behind him. His eyes peered at her intently, but she only shook her head and brought a finger to her lips. At last, she reached the last step and stopped, holding her hand up to signal to Solas to stop as well, and she waited there for a moment, closing her eyes to listen.

At last, Ell’s eyes flashed open, and a deep frown cut into the features of her face. “Give me a barrier,” she whispered. She turned to look at Solas, who was staring at her in confusion. “Give me a barrier, now,” she said, her voice coming out in more of a rush. 

A loud screech filled the air. It seemed to be coming from the darkness all around them.

An abject look of horror struck Ell’s face as she stepped further into the room, striking with her empty hilt so that the spirit sword would grow. In the fleeting flicker of light, all that could be seen was legs, so many legs.

“Solas!” Ell screeched.

“I - I cannot!” 

The guttural screech of the spider made Ell’s skin crawl as it neared them, moving faster than a halla on even ground. The woman let out a choked gasp as she moved forward to meet the creature. In the darkness of the subterranean chamber, she struck out with her spirit blade blindly.

The spider screeched again, jolting backwards as the tip of the blade hit its foremost leg. Ell continued on the offense, moving forward and holding her left arm out to strike again. The spider reared up on its back legs and slammed down on her arm, one of its pincers connecting. Ell hissed as she felt the skin break. Reflexively, she jerked her arm back, but it only deepened and lengthened the wound. 

Ell took a step backward as she shook her arm out, blood flowing freely down the length of the limb. The spider moved toward her, again rearing up on its hind legs, but Ell was prepared this time. She swung with the spirit blade again, slicing into the beast’s thorax. Blood rained down on her as the spider skittered away again, narrowly avoiding another slice of the sword as Ell attempted to slam its spectral blade into one of its many legs on the backswing. 

At last, the cool feel of a barrier spread across Ell’s limbs. It was a weak, woobly, ineffective work of magic, but no matter. She could work with this.

The beast had clearly weakened; its many legs splintered under its own weight. The blood flow from its underside had not slowed. A determined grimace settled across Ell’s features as her eyes ran over the creature’s extremities, studying it. It would not be long now.

Before the barrier had enough time to decay, she ran forward, raising her empty hilt high in the air once more. The creature let out one of its guttural shrieks, but Ell did not allow it to bother her. She was so close to ending this. As she neared the beast, she brought her spectral blade down to its body again, putting all of her weight into the blow. The blade struck the animal’s midsection again, and more blood came out of its body in great billowing cascades.

The beast stumbled before its legs gave out from under it. It fell backwards, slamming its dorsal section into the ground with a resounding _crunch_ ; then it moved no more.

The world spun for a moment as Ell turned away from the sight of the creature, pressing her hands to her knees and breathing deeply. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that the wound on her left arm where the pincer had gotten her was starting to blister.

_”Fenedhis lasa,”_ she mumbled to herself. Without a second thought, she ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of her shirt and pushed it into her arm with shaking hands. It would be terrible getting out the threads later, but for now the flow of the venom needed to be stopped. Gritting her teeth, she looked up to see Solas frozen at the bottom of the stairs, his expression unreadable in the darkness of the room.

“Solas?” she asked as she took a step toward him. “Are you -” Ell swallowed. “You’re okay?”

There was a beat of tense silence as they stared at one another intently before Solas broke it with a slight chuckle. “Was that a serious question?” he asked as he closed the gap between them. “You are the one covered in blood.” He dropped the staff that Morrigan had thrown at him earlier to the ground and reached out to take her arm. Ell, however, took a step away, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“I’m fine,” she said with a quick shake of her head before turning away from him. Without another word, she moved further into the darkness of the room and sidestepped the large body of the spider she had slain without offering it a second glance. Instead, she moved to an alcove that she couldn’t have known was there unless she had seen the room alight, and lit the veilfire brazier there with her left hand. Then she stepped back and nodded to Solas. “Could you grab a torch?” she asked. “We’ll need it where we’re going.”

He stared at her for a long moment before following her lead and walking up to the brazier beside her. “Very well,” he said before grasping the torch from below the brazier and lighting it with the green fire.

Ell nodded but said nothing further before walking away from him toward the corridor from which the spider had come. She paused for a moment before stepping into it, but she merely sighed and headed through the arched hallway before entering the room on the opposite end. Solas followed close behind her, raising the torch high over his head to light the room’s contents. It was stuffed almost to the hallway with statues of a woman with a dragon head and various other artifacts whose details were difficult to discern under the green glow of the veilfire. While Solas studied the room in obvious interest, even going so far as to touch some of the statues, Ell turned away from the objects and pressed her fingers to the wall of a nearby arch. The stones slid away at her touch, revealing another hallway.

“Solas,” she said gently when she realized he was too engrossed with the statues to notice that she was going in a different direction. He turned at once, and his eyes immediately fell to the sight of her shaking hands, seeming to glow in the light of the veilfire. “Don’t,” Ell said as he opened his mouth. Without another word, she walked into the hallway and led him further into the catacombs of the building.

It was after she opened the second of these archways that they at last reached the room that was their destination. The glowing hemisphere of blue light nearly rendered the veilfire unnecessary as a means of a light source, but that was not its only use. Now with her knees starting to shake as much as her hands, Ell nodded to the hemisphere and looked meaningfully at Solas. “Bring it down.” She paused. “Please.”

For a moment, Solsa looked from the veilfire, to her, to the glowing hemisphere to which she had gestured. Then, suddenly, a concentrated look swept across his features, and he pressed the bright flame of the veilfire to the glow of the hemisphere, which quickly crackled and dissipated at the contact. Solas made to move closer to what the barrier had been protecting, a small altar to Mythal, but Ell interrupted the movement with a word. “Wait,” she said. She moved next to him and slowly took her right hand away from the wound in her left arm, hissing slightly in pain at the gradual removal of the pressure. Nonetheless, she said nothing further and raised both of her hands to bring down a second barrier, this one invisible to the naked eye. It interacted with her magic warmly; after all, she was merely calling back into herself what had been hers before. It did not keep her hands from shaking, however, and it did not keep her from turning paler at the sight of the sheathed dagger lying on the altar.

Ell turned away from the sight as she took her ripped cloth and pressed it into the wound again, though she wasn’t sure how much good she was doing it at this point. She glanced at Solas with a bit of a wary expression, and he seemed to be staring at her even more intently. “Take it,” she said slowly. “That dagger is what Morrigan has requested.”

“Very well,” Solas said again. He reached down with the hand that was not carrying the veilfire torch and picked up the sheathed weapon. His expression was perfectly neutral - almost _too_ perfect. Ell studied him for a moment as he stood there, dagger in one hand and torch in the other, but she said nothing. Instead, she led him back through the corridors and to the room with the spider’s corpse, closing the archways behind them as they went.

Pain shot from her wrist to her shoulder in a wave as they climbed the crumbling staircase back to the outside world, and Ell hissed in pain. Twilight had fallen now, but it was not dark enough for her to miss the angry red sheen her blisters had taken. “Don’t,” she said again, not even bothering to look back at Solas as she trudged in the direction of the shrine where they had left Morrigan behind. “I’m fine.”

It sounded as though Solas inhaled very deeply behind her. “You are not -”

“I see you have returned.” Morrigan’s voice called out to them from the top of the staircase at the center of the shrine. Her eyes glittered as she took in Ell’s bloodied clothes and arm and Solas’s merely dusty ones, her lip curling. She climbed down the staircase at last, moving at a very leisurely, slow pace before at last coming to pause before them and holding her hand out to Solas expectantly. “The dagger, if you will.”

As Solas shook his head, Ell groaned, uneager to hear another argument between the two. “Just give it to her, Solas,” she said, her voice now coming across more strained than she had anticipated.

“Not yet,” Solas said, watching Morrigan as though he were watching a snake, waiting for it to strike.

Morrigan grinned as she dropped her hand. “Yes, Inquisitor, let us hear this one speak. I imagine whatever he says will be of significant interest… to the birds, perhaps.”

Solas returned the smile, but where Morrigan’s had been one of condescension, his was of ice. “I will not give this to you,” he said, holding up the dagger, “unless you heal her first.”

Ell opened her mouth to retort, but Morrigan held up her hand, silencing her. “This _is_ interesting,” she amended, crossing her arms. “And what do you propose, wolf? Do you imagine you will fight me in your weakened state? Flatter yourself a hero, now?” She let out a bit of a laugh before quickly quieting. “Very well, I will play along.” She turned to Ell and gestured for her to sit. “This might take some of your strength, Inquisitor, and you have little left,” she explained. “‘Twill be easier if you are already on the ground.”

Ell sighed as she moved to a sitting position, stumbling significantly due to her shaking limbs, but Morrigan steadied her as she sat. Solas stood behind them, watching carefully as Morrigan took Ell’s left arm in her hands and pulled the ragged cloth from the wound. She clicked her tongue in distaste as she ran her hands over the wound and they pulsed with more maroon energy from before.

“Could not even manage a decent barrier,” Morrigan said with a shake of her head, her eyes focused on the wound. “And yet you challenge me.”

As the maroon energy grew brighter, the blisters began to fade, but Ell let out another hiss of pain. “It was my fault,” she said. “I am out of practice. I was too aggressive and attacked when I should have dodged.”

Morrigan nodded as though she expected this. “Yes, one does not emerge at birth a veteran warrior,” she said slowly, “though I would imagine some basics to be well in hand.” At last, she stopped running her hands in the space over Ell’s arm. The skin was raw and red, but the venom was gone, and there was no sign of an opening. 

Ell bent and unbent her arm, testing it. “Thank you,” she said to Morrigan. “It is almost back to normal.”

The witch grinned, her golden yellow eyes flickering in the twilight. “Oh, do not thank _me_ , Inquisitor,” she said. “My hand was forced if you recall.” She pulled herself to her feet and waved at Ell to remain sitting when the other woman moved as if to follow. “No, you need rest,” she said, shaking her head. Then she turned her eyes to Solas. “The dagger, now.”

Slowly, Solas turned the weapon over to the mage. Morrigan grinned as she took it from him, but the two stared at each for a long moment after the exchange was made, as though they were sharing further insults, just out of earshot of Ell now. Despite this, Morrigan said nothing to him and instead turned her attention back to the elven woman sitting upon the ground. 

“I trust I will not see you again too soon, Inquisitor,” she said, mysterious as always. “There is much to do in the interim.” 

At those words, the witch turned into a raven and flew off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. Each of you encourages me to continue writing, even if it's just by lurking. (I am a lurker as well - no shame in that.) I hope all of you have a wonderful end of your weekend and as good a Monday as you can!


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